


Only The Moon Howls

by katling



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Swearing, fenris as inquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 113,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4889749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katling/pseuds/katling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls. ~George Carlin</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fenris finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time and is thrust into the role of Herald of Andraste and eventually Inquisitor. Leadership doesn’t come naturally to him but with Hawke elsewhere and thus unable to be nudged forward into the role, Fenris has little choice but to learn. </p>
<p>I have no idea where this one came from but here we go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: There are some implications from Trespasser in regards to Solas in this chapter and likely future ones. Nothing that would count as an outright spoiler though.

Fenris’ eyes were narrowed as he stared at the group around the campfire. He wasn’t concerned about being seen. The night was dark and he was well-hidden in the bushes and the four men around the campfire were clearly inexperienced in living anywhere other than in a city. Their fire was too big and too bright, rendering their night vision non-existent, and they had not set a guard of any sort, not even a magical one. 

Which was decidedly strange for Tevinter mages.

He’d been chasing down slavers for months now. Hawke had been more than willing to indulge him after they’d left Kirkwall. The slavers had quickly gotten word about the chaos in the region and had gathered like flies around rotten meat. Fenris had thought they might, though Hawke had been dubious at first. After their third encounter with slavers, which had been their _second_ time freeing not just refugees, both elf and human, but also _mages_ , he’d been convinced. It was one of the few times Fenris had ever seen his lover short of a witty word or seven. Hawke had asked in bewildered tones why the slavers were taking _mages_ when they, the slavers, were from _Tevinter_. 

Fenris snorted softly as he remembered that day. He’d known that Southerners didn’t really have much of an idea of what it was like in the Imperium but he’d thought they’d known that even mages could be slaves if they were elves or foreigners or just poor. But Hawke’s reaction had shown him that they thought that Tevinter was some kind of mage paradise. That being a mage automatically equalled freedom there, no matter what. He’d felt a certain amount of sour satisfaction in destroying that image, even with Hawke. He’d have enjoyed it far more if it had been Anders, seeing that it was his actions that had wrought the chaos that had drawn the slavers in the first place but the mage was gone to Maker knows where. Fenris certainly didn’t care, though he knew Hawke quietly worried.

He shifted and removed a stick from under his stomach as he continued to watch the Tevinter mages. That had been months ago and it had given Hawke the impetus to join in with Fenris’ pursuit of slavers with alacrity. But then had come the letter from Carver. Or rather the letter from Stroud that had been included in Carver’s letter. Hawke had never let him see it and he scowled at that memory. For several weeks, letters had flown back and forth between Hawke and Stroud and even Varric and then, one evening about six weeks after the first letter had arrived, Hawke had cleared his throat and tapped his fingers nervously against the bed where he was sitting.

_“I have to go, Fenris.”_

_Fenris had given the man a flat look. “When are we leaving?”_

_Hawke had chewed on his bottom lip. “You’re not. I am.”_

_Fenris had given his lover a thoroughly unimpressed look. “No.”_

_Hawke had gotten to his feet and started pacing. Fenris had rarely seen him this agitated but that didn’t move him one iota._

_“Look…” Hawke swallowed and ran his hand through his hair. “Stroud’s asked for my help and…” He gulped and whirled around, striding over and pulling Fenris into his arms. He’d buried his face in Fenris’ hair. “I can’t… I can’t risk losing you, Fenris. Please.”_

Fenris gave a tiny shake of his head, pushing the thoughts away. The argument had been long and quite vociferous on both sides and at one point had descended into what could only be called almost desperate sex. Not angry sex – Hawke would never allow that and Fenris would never accept it – but it had surely had an air of desperation about it. It had been in the aftermath of that when Fenris had finally agreed to let Hawke go. He still wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision. 

Hawke had left the next morning, promising he’d be back as soon as possible, and Fenris had continued his campaign against the Tevinter slavers in the area. He’d ended up tracking a group of slavers right down into Fereldan and that was when he’d stumbled over the group of four Tevinter mages and gotten curious enough to let the slavers go for the moment. What were Tevinter mages, who were clearly _not_ slavers, doing in the south? He’d been following them for three days now but this was the first time he’d been able to get close enough to listen in to their conversation in the hopes of gaining an answer. And now as the light of their fire flickered over their faces, he discovered another thing – he recognised two of the four mages. He couldn’t recall their names but he knew their faces. They’d been friends of Danarius and they were Magisters.

He wriggled a bit closer and the voices became clear enough for him to be able to follow the conversation. It was mostly mundane and of little interest but one thing became plain. They were going to a place called Haven where someone calling themselves ‘the Elder One’ was waiting for them. They were maddeningly non-specific about why and what this ‘Elder One’ planned but Fenris made the decision to continue following them nonetheless. He doubted he could do much and he wasn’t sure if anyone in Fereldan would listen to him if he approached them but perhaps if he had a bit more in the way of evidence or information, someone might. Maybe that Arl they’d met at Duke Prosper’s party?

He slowly edged back away from the mage camp and made his way silently through the forest to the tree where he’d stashed his gear. He climbed up into the broad branches and settled himself as comfortably as he could. One advantage of his background was that he’d learned to sleep practically anywhere and, once he was sure that he was securely placed, it only took a moment for him to slip towards sleep. Tomorrow he would continue to follow the mages and see where this all lead.

The mages turned out to be surprisingly easy to follow. Though they had enough intelligence to stay well off the roads and the more commonly used paths, they were not experienced enough to know how to move completely unseen. It made Fenris’ job easier, given he was not an expert tracker and he absolutely could not afford to let Danarius’ friends catch sight of him. They’d always viewed him with a great deal of avarice and he had no doubts they would eagerly try to… _reclaim_ Danarius’ lost property if they could. As he wanted to follow these men to their destination, a pitched battle in the middle of the forest would be counterproductive.

But at least their inexperience meant he could create a small campsite for himself of an evening instead of being forced to have cold camps and sleep in trees. They never looked beyond their fire and that meant he could have some comfort if he was careful.

They were about a day or two away from this Haven place and Fenris was sitting beside his small fire when he became suddenly aware that he was being watched. One hand immediately went to the hilt of the sword lying on the ground beside him and he tensed.

“I mean you no harm,” came the voice from the trees, soft and low as though whoever the person was, they knew about the Tevinter mages as well.

Fenris frowned a little. The lilt in the voice was familiar, a softer male version of the one that accented Merrill’s voice. One of the Dalish? “Come into the light,” he said, ready to leap to his feet at a moment’s notice to defend himself.

The person walked into the meagre light of the fire and Fenris saw that it was indeed an elf but, despite the lilt of his voice, definitely _not_ Dalish. His unmarked face proclaimed that without any words needing to be spoken.

“May I sit down?” the elf asked.

Fenris hesitated for a moment then nodded. “Who are you?”

“My name is Solas,” the elf said as he shrugged off his pack and dropped gracefully into a cross-legged position on the other side of the fire. As Fenris watched, the elf’s eyes dropped to the markings on his chin and his eyebrow quirked. “I did not expect to see one of the People here.”

Fenris snorted. “I am not Dalish.”

The elf, Solas, looked at Fenris with an odd intensity then his eyes widened for a moment before he nodded. “Indeed. And you are no city elf either.”

A silence fell and Fenris made no move to break it. Solas seemed to find this amusing rather than irritating.

“Forgive me. I do not mean to pry. I am simply… curious.”

Fenris had been taking the opportunity to look the other elf over. He was bald and sharp-faced and dressed in simple, even slightly shabby clothes but it was the staff strapped to his pack that answered Fenris’ question about how the elf was surviving on his own. A mage but not a Dalish mage. Nor did he have the bearing of a Circle mage. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. Elf or not, mages were not to be trusted.

“You have been following those rather careless men,” Solas said, raising one eyebrow.

“They’re Tevinter magisters,” Fenris replied shortly.

“I see.” Solas looked out into the darkness with an unreadable expression. There was something about him that was… odd but Fenris couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Then the elf looked back. “May I ask your name?”

There was a part of him that didn’t want to give it, that _feared_ giving this strange elven mage his name, but he set that part aside for the moment. While knowing someone’s name did give some power over a person, to think it gave control was ridiculous. His only real concern was that someone would associate him with Hawke. 

“Fenris.”

He wasn’t expecting the faint amusement on the other elf’s face.

“Wolf,” Solas murmured, the amusement intensifying for a moment before it faded.

Fenris paused then threw out what was tantamount to a challenge. “My former master used to call me his ‘little wolf’,” he said flatly.

Solas’ attention was abruptly riveted on him and he saw anger flare in the other elf’s eyes.

“You are from Tevinter. You were a slave,” Solas said with a soft anger.

Fenris gave a curt nod but said nothing.

“And your master?”

“Dead. At my hand.” Fenris all but spat the words out and his markings flared white as his own anger briefly spiked.

Solas drew in a breath and his eyes widened again as he looked at the markings. He seemed to be putting things together in his mind and the sudden burst of sheer _rage_ Fenris saw in the elf’s eyes both surprised and… mollified him. Because that rage was not directed at him.

“Those markings are lyrium. I felt it when they… activated,” Solas said. “Who… your former master’s work?”

Fenris again nodded curtly. “I used them to kill him.”

There was something wolfish about the brief grin that Solas gave him that both intrigued and unsettled him.

“Good.” 

Fenris snorted then looked at the elf curiously. “So why are you here?”

All of a sudden Solas looked cagey and wary. “I have… business in the area.”

“Whatever’s going on at Haven?” Fenris asked. 

He’d drifted close to the roads on a few occasions and had seen many people heading towards Haven. Whatever this ‘Elder One’ was up to was either drawing a crowd or the crowd was what he wanted. Given the prevalence of blood magic in Tevinter and the fact he knew Danarius’ two friends were active blood mages, he suspected the latter.

“Not as such,” Solas replied.

“You might want to be careful,” Fenris replied. “Whatever those Magisters are up to, it’s probably not good. Two of them are blood mages.”

Solas paused and then smiled slightly. “I will keep that in mind and I thank you for the warning.”

Fenris grunted in reply and looked around. Solas seemed to realise what he was thinking.

“If you wish to sleep, I am willing to keep guard.” He looked faintly amused again. “If you will trust me, that is.”

Fenris considered it for a moment then he gave the elf a wry look and shrugged. In truth, he hadn’t slept well since Hawke had left and not just because he missed the man. He wouldn’t admit to missing the wards Hawke always put up but he would admit they were useful. “If you intend to kill me, you will do so whether I trust you or not.”

That made Solas chuckle, which oddly enough set Fenris at ease. He quickly set up his bedroll and settled himself, making sure his sword was right beside him. He was all but asleep when he felt a hand brush his hair and a soft voice speak.

“Sleep, fierce wolf, and forget that you ever met me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris discovers the consequences of following Tevinter mages, Varric is both a mother hen and a protector, Solas is tricky and Cassandra isn't entirely unreasonable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a specific schedule at which I'll be updating but I have a few chapters already written so I just need them looked at and then they'll go up fairly quicky. Once I get through them, things may slow down a little.

Fenris woke with an awareness of an aching pain throughout his entire body and an even sharper pain in his left hand. He groaned and shifted, trying to bury his face in the thin pillow he could feel underneath him without actually moving. It worked about as well as might be expected.

“Hey, Broody, about time you woke up.”

He opened his eyes at the sound of Varric’s worried voice and found that he was lying on a low camp bed in a small room.

“Varric?” he croaked and then coughed.

“Easy,” Varric said as he reached for the goblet of water beside the bed.

Fenris let the dwarf fuss over him for a moment and after he’d had a drink of water, he sat up properly. Varric backed off and watched him with open concern.

“Where am I?”

“The Chantry at Haven,” Varric replied. He glanced over his shoulder towards the door. “It took a hell of a lot of fast talking to convince them not to chain you up or throw you in a cell.”

Fenris snarled as he squashed the urge to hurl himself out the door. It wasn’t that he thought the idea of leaving was bad or that he didn’t want to do it, more that he wasn’t physically capable right now. Though, given what he’d suffered at Danarius’ hand and how indifferent that man had been to his slave’s pain, he probably _could_ have made his escape but he wanted answers more than his freedom at the moment. He had momentary mental image of Hawke grinning at him and making some glib quip about how much he’d grown as a person. And knowing Varric was here was some small comfort. He also noted that Varric made no mention of Hawke. He wasn’t sure why but he was willing to follow the dwarf’s lead.

“What happened?”

He was struck silent by the look on Varric’s face. It was sorrow and worry and even a hint of fear.

“That’s what we’re all hoping you can tell us,” the dwarf said then he frowned. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” Fenris demanded. “I remember sneaking into the Temple.” He snorted. “Which was far too easy. I remember trying to follow the Tevinter mages but losing them when I had to hide and wait for some Templars to pass. Then… nothing.”

Varric looked momentarily startled. “Wait, you were following Tevinter mages?” 

“Magisters, in fact,” Fenris replied. “I followed them across half of Fereldan. I… recognised two of them. They knew Danarius.”

“I’d wondered why you were here,” Varric said with a nod of understanding. “I couldn’t think of any reason why you’d be at the Conclave.”

“Conclave?”

Varric looked surprised. “You hadn’t heard?”

“Obviously not,” Fenris said with a hint of irritation. “I knew there were people gathering here but not why.”

“The Divine called a Conclave to try and sort out the mage-Templar conflict and put an end to it.”

Fenris snorted. “Was she having much success?”

“No idea,” Varric said with a shrug. “We’d just arrived when the explosion occurred.”

“What explosion?” Fenris asked, startled.

“The one everyone thinks you’re responsible for,” Varric said dryly. “I keep telling them you’d be the last person to ever be responsible for a magical explosion but they’re not listening.” He nodded towards Fenris’ hand. “Then there’s that thing.”

Fenris raised his hand and looked at the pulsating green mark on his palm. He could feel it resonating up through the lyrium markings, a low ache that was setting his teeth on edge but that he was determined to ignore. He’d certainly ignored worse pain in the past.

“I have no idea what it is, other than magic,” he growled then he sighed and let himself sag a little. Varric was a friend, one of the few he’d ever had. He didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his uncertainty or ire. “It is… affecting my markings.”

“Yeah, Chuckles said that was happening,” Varric said, worry softening his voice. “You alright?”

Fenris gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I will endure. Who is Chuckles?”

“Solas. An elven apostate who appeared shortly after the explosion. Said he was in the vicinity and offered his help. He seems to know what he’s talking about.” Varric gave him a small worried smile. “He’s pretty worried about you. Says the mark is growing and something needs to be done soon.”

Fenris opened his mouth to reply but then the door opened and a tall stern looking woman stalked in, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Her expression was flat and unfriendly and Fenris immediately tensed.

“You were supposed to tell us when he awoke,” she said to Varric in an accusing tone.

“I was just about to,” Varric said with a smile that Fenris could see didn’t reach his eyes. “I was just asking a few friendly questions. Not everyone reacts well to interrogation, Seeker.”

The look Varric was giving the woman held a lot of weight and an unspoken demand. For a moment she simply stared back then she finally nodded once. When she turned back to Fenris, some of the antagonism had been brought under control.

“You are Fenris?” When he nodded, she continued, “Where is Hawke?”

Fenris tensed and glared at her. “I do not know.”

She matched his glare easily. “According to what I have been told, you are his lover. You must know.”

“I do not,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “And if I did, I would not tell _you_.”

The woman’s glare became incendiary but Fenris was no slave anymore to be cowed by someone’s anger. His expression became one of obstinate defiance. 

For a moment, the impasse remained then the woman scowled and asked, “Why were you at the Conclave?”

Fenris glanced over at Varric and when the dwarf nodded encouragingly, he replied. “I was following some Tevinter magisters. I ran across them by chance somewhere in eastern Fereldan. They came here.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed and her demeanour changed from one of suspicion to slight alarm. “Tevinter magisters? What were they doing here?”

“I only got close enough to overhear their conversation once,” Fenris replied. “They were talking about meeting someone called the ‘Elder One’.”

“The Elder One?” The woman frowned. “You did not see this person?”

Fenris hesitated for a moment. “If I did, I do not remember.”

Just then, the reality of yet _another_ loss of his memories sunk in. Once _again_ memories had been taken from him. They might only be the memories of a few hours but they were _his_ and they had been stolen. He snarled and tightened his hands into fists in the blankets. His markings flashed white and then he let out a pained cry as the activation of the lyrium in his skin caused the green mark on his hand to flare into life. He clutched at his wrist with his other hand and curled into himself as pain stabbed through him, green tracing up the lyrium in his arm. He barely felt Varric’s hands on his shoulder and back or heard his worried questions.

A moment later, long slender hands appeared in his vision. They wrapped themselves around his wrists and gently pulled his marked hand forward.

“Fenris?” came a voice he did not recognise. It was calm and gentle and had a softer version of Merrill’s accent. “May I use magic to help you?”

Fenris snarled a negative, trying to yank his hand away from the unknown mage, then the mark flared again and he cried out in agony as the pain rolled up the lines of lyrium on his arm and stabbed into his head and back. “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth, hating that he had to subject himself to magic yet again. While he had become accustomed to Hawke’s magic, that was because it was _Hawke_ wielding it. He trusted Hawke with… _everything_.

He was startled by a cool, almost pleasant wash of magic that spread over his hand but climbed no further than his wrist. The mark roiled for a moment under the magic then calmed and settled and the pain finally began to ebb. Fenris drew in a shuddering breath and looked up to see a bald, sharp-faced elf crouched next to the bed, the owner of the slender hands. Varric and the woman were hovering just behind him, both looking worried.

“This is Solas, Broody,” Varric said with some relief. “The elven apostate I was telling you about.”

Solas looked faintly amused. “Broody?”

“Varric likes nicknames,” Fenris replied with a roll of his eyes as the last of the pain slowly died. Not that he really minded Varric’s habits. The nickname had made him feel like he belonged in a way he’d never entirely understood.

“Ah,” Solas said. “That would be why he insists on calling me ‘Chuckles’.” 

Fenris managed a small smile at that as he drew his marked hand close to his body. Solas seemed to approve of both reactions. He patted Fenris on the shoulder then stood and turned to the woman. 

“Seeker, now that Fenris is awake, I believe it is vital that we take him to the small rift not far from here. It will be the perfect opportunity to test my theory and…” He turned and looked at Fenris with concern. “It is important that we stabilise the mark on his hand. It is reacting poorly with his existing markings.”

Fenris noticed that Solas’ body language was deferential. Not cowed, like a slave’s might have been, but… respectful. He was also aware that Solas’ behaviour was entirely calculated. Most slaves learned to do the same sort of thing – how to hold themselves, angle their heads and bodies and so on, in order to silently placate their masters or mistresses. He’d done it himself, though with mixed success. Danarius had had mood swings that had made reading him difficult at times. Solas, on the other hand, appeared to be very successful as the woman calmed and listened to him.

“Understood,” she said with a nod. “I will see that his armour and weapon are brought here immediately.”

She turned and left the cabin. Solas then turned back to Fenris. He watched with interest as the elven mage’s body language quickly changed from deferential respect to a quiet confidence that somehow managed to not raise his hackles. He suspected that Solas was managing him as deftly as he’d managed the Seeker but since the mage _could_ manage the Seeker, he decided that alienating Solas was probably not the wisest action right now. He could… and quite likely would, given his track record… do that later.

“It would be best if you did not use those markings of yours for the time being,” Solas said. “As I told the Seeker, they seem to be reacting poorly to the mark on your hand. I believe that once the mark is stabilised, they may integrate more smoothly.”

“Since I have no desire to experience such pain again, I will do as you say,” Fenris said as he shoved the blanket aside. He had been dressed in a plain shirt and breeches while he’d been unconscious. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea that someone had been… manhandling him while he was unaware. It obviously showed on his face as Varric quickly spoke up.

“It was me, Broody.” He gestured towards the clothes Fenris was wearing. “Figured you wouldn’t want a stranger doing it.”

He relaxed a little and gave Varric a nod of thanks. He knew better than to say anything. Varric would just deflect any gratitude with a joke and a glib line. He’d been on the receiving end of Varric’s care before. Whether it was making sure the Carta or various other gangs in Kirkwall steered clear of him, getting warnings of slavers, deliveries of good wine or just a game of cards when sleep evaded him, Varric had quietly provided and proven his care. 

Fenris had appreciated it, especially after the encounter with Danarius that had ended with the magister’s death. While that incident had rekindled the relationship between he and Hawke and he would never want to change that, he had been reluctant to lean too much on Hawke in regards to his mixed feelings about Danarius and Varania. Hawke had enough on his plate with the Knight-Commander, Orsino, Anders and everything else in the city. He didn’t need Fenris’ problems laid on his shoulders as well, though he knew the man would have probably disagreed. Besides, Fenris had always had other things on his mind when he was with Hawke. Now that he felt he could freely _have_ what he wanted, he had not wanted to sully it with old fears and concerns.

But, on the nights he was staying in his purloined mansion instead of at Hawke’s home, Varric had turned up on more than one occasion with Isabela, Aveline and Donnic in tow. The ensuing card games had been accompanied by a great deal of wine, laughter, teasing and a few tantrums from Aveline when she lost, which never lost their entertainment value. He’d gained more balance in his own mind in those hours than he had any other time and in many ways he credited them with his increasing presence in Hawke’s home. With his mind settled, he’d felt less like a stranger intruding into Hawke’s home and more like he could actually belong there.

A knock on the door heralded a soldier carrying Fenris’ armour and sword. Varric quickly relieved him of both and handed them over. He and Solas immediately got involved in a quiet discussion that allowed Fenris the privacy to get changed. He shot them a wry look before he stripped off the clothes and started pulling on his armour. It was obvious that Varric and Solas were his jailers for the moment but at least they were people who seemed to give a damn about him. It didn’t make it better but it made it tolerable.

He sheathed his sword over his shoulder and rolled his shoulders a few times to settle the armour. The movement had gotten the attention of the others and when he turned, he found them waiting for him.

“Thought you might have replaced that armour with something a bit less spiky,” Varric said with a small grin.

Fenris shrugged. “It is still serviceable.”

Many other people would have looked at him with pity or some kind of pretence at understanding for why he was still wearing the armour Danarius had given him. Varric did neither. He simply snorted and shook his head.

“There’s no point having coin, Broody, if all you spend it on is wine.”

“I spend it on very good wine,” Fenris replied, the barest of smiles curving his lips. He also spent it on Hawke but now was not the time to mention that.

“Snob,” Varric said fondly.

“Just because you prefer the rat piss they call ale in the Hanged Man doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t have some taste.”

“That is quality rat piss, I’ll have you know,” Varric replied, openly grinning now. “And don’t pretend you haven’t gotten drunk on your share of it.”

“Getting drunk on it is the best thing to do,” Fenris said dryly. “That way you can stop tasting it.”

Solas cleared his throat. He looked faintly amused. “As fascinating as this discussion is, the Seeker is waiting for us and her temper is… short at the moment.”

Fenris sobered. “Who is she?” he asked Varric.

“Remember when I wrote to you and Hawke and told you to cancel your plans and steer clear of Kirkwall because Chantry forces were on their way?” Fenris nodded and Varric continued, “She was at the head of them. She’s a Seeker of Truth. They’re… a special group. Not quite part of the Templars but associated with them. They normally investigate any accusations of wrongdoing in the Circles, whether it’s mages or Templars.” He grimaced. “She’d come to Kirkwall to find out what happened, though I suppose it was as much as the Right Hand of the Divine as it was as a Seeker. Either way, I figured it might be best if I was the only one she could find. Well, other than Aveline but I figured a Seeker wasn’t going to intimidate _her_.”

“What happened?”

“She wanted to know what happened so I told her,” Varric replied. “She thought Hawke was responsible for the whole mess.”

Fenris snorted. “Of course she did.”

Varric grinned. “Well, it’s not an unfair assumption to make if you weren’t there. He did tend to be in the middle of most of the trouble in Kirkwall. He just wasn’t causing it. Mostly.”

Fenris snorted and looked dryly amused. “Indeed.”

“Anyway, I told her what happened and she decided I needed to come with her and tell the Divine personally.” Varric glanced towards the door. “We arrived just as everything went boom.”

“And she thinks I am responsible for that.” It was not a question.

Varric grimaced. “Everyone thinks you’re responsible, except me and Chuckles here.”

“I do not remember what happened,” Fenris said with no little frustration.

“I know,” Solas said soothingly, inserting himself into the conversation he had been listening to with some interest. “We will find out…”

A thundering sound came from the sky outside and a moment later, the mark on Fenris’ hand flared. He gave a cry as pain spiked up his arm through the lyrium markings along with little tracings of green and he clutched at his wrist with his other hand. It took a moment for the mark to settle and the pain to subside and when it had, he looked up to find Varric and Solas watching him worriedly.

“Come,” Solas said. “We must test your mark on a small rift nearby. If it works how I believe it will, we can make an attempt on the Breach itself. We must stabilise the mark before it consumes you.”

Fenris nodded and Varric opened the door with a flourish. Fenris squared his shoulders and they walked out to join the Seeker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you remembered Solas' line from the end of the last chapter (“Sleep, fierce wolf, and forget that you ever met me.”). He's a tricky old wolf. And my headcanon has always been that Varric is secretly (or not so secretly) a mother hen to all of his friends so he was always going to fight ferociously to keep Fenris from waking up in chains.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breach is closed - temporarily anyway - and Fenris is now a part of the Inquisition. It doesn't sit well with him but a conversation with Commander Cullen sets at least some of his worries at ease.

Fenris walked out of the gates of Haven and past the soldiers practising under the watchful eye of Knight-Captain… no, not Knight-Captain… _Commander_ Cullen. He would have to remember the change in title. He’d been surprised to see the man here but another familiar face was comforting, even if he had known Cullen only in passing. He’d never had any issues with the man back in Kirkwall, though Anders had certainly had plenty to say. But then, he tended to disregard most things Anders had said.

He made his way past the Seeker, sparing her a single nod, and down to the small dock that stretched out over the frozen lake. There he stopped and drew in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. The last few days had been a whirlwind and he was still unsure as to where he stood now. 

The trip to the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes had proven that the mark on his hand could close the rifts, albeit at the cost of a great deal of pain as the magic of the mark ricocheted through the lyrium in his skin. Assaulting the Breach itself had revealed that whatever had happened in the Temple, he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That he’d responded to the Divine’s plea for help and… something had happened. That revelation had lifted the blame from his shoulders for most people.

Closing the Breach itself had been excruciating. The pain had ultimately overwhelmed him and he had been unconscious for days but at least it had not been bad enough to rob him of any further memories. Solas had opined that the smaller rifts would not affect him so badly, especially now that the mark on his hand had indeed stabilised with the temporary closing of the Breach. However, his attempt to use the abilities the lyrium markings had given him had proven… difficult. They _worked_ but they were sluggish and the longer he used them, the more they made the mark on his hand ache. Solas was hard at work trying to find a way to truly integrate the two, given Fenris’ use of his abilities was almost second nature in battle and the sluggishness was almost as effective as actually physically tripping him up at making him ‘stutter’ in the middle of a fight. Thus far it hadn’t cost him or anyone else anything more than a few bruises and he was doing his best to compensate for it but it was only a matter of time before something worse happened.

And now he was a part of this Inquisition, complete with brand new armour crafted by the Inquisition’s blacksmith. He’d almost rejected the armour, wanting to stay with what he was comfortable with, but Varric had talked him into it… in a manner of speaking. The dwarf had waved his hands and muttered something about first impressions and the perils of glowy elves and spiky Tevinter armour. While not the most compelling of arguments, Fenris had understood what Varric had been trying to tell him. He represented something bigger, something that needed to be viewed with respect, not fear.

Admittedly, his first instinct had been to run once he’d woken. His entanglements with authority had rarely gone well for him and he had no desire to become the Inquisition’s scapegoat. But the first meeting in the War Room with Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana – whom he had recognised as the Sister Nightingale they had met in Kirkwall – and Josephine had set his mind at ease somewhat. They had shown him nothing but respect and had listened to his ideas and suggestions, even taking them on board and agreeing to some of them. It was… gratifying and somewhat frightening at the same time. Agent of the Inquisition – even worse, Herald of Andraste – was a lofty title for a former slave.

Ultimately though, running would be pointless. He could not run from the mark on his hand, no matter how much he hated to admit that. How much he hated that magic had once again touched him and marked him in ways he did not understand and left him feeling like he lacked control. He had lost track of the number of times he’d wanted to lash out and snarl and snap at everyone around him. He hated feeling like he was at the mercy of magic. It made him feel like the shadow of Danarius was standing behind him still. 

Unfortunately those around him were the very people who were trying to help him and he’d come a long way from the person he’d been in the early years in Kirkwall. Oh, he’d snarled and snapped but it had been muted and generally followed by a wordless wave of apology. Driving wedges between him and these people was pointless and foolish and they didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his ire at magic in general.

Privately he would admit that he missed Hawke and not just for deeply personal and somewhat carnal reasons. He had always followed where Hawke led and that had been acceptable for him. He had not wanted to lead and now… well, he was no fool. He was being nudged into that role because he was this so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’. They wanted him at the forefront and he had spent far too long hiding and effacing himself to be even remotely comfortable with that. He wanted Hawke here, to take the lead, to draw the attention away from him and… because he wanted Hawke here. He wanted to wrap himself around the man and forget the world outside for a short while. He’d felt slightly off-kilter ever since the mage had left and the feeling was only intensifying now. He suspected Varric was aware of that as the dwarf had been giving him narrow-eyed worried looks ever since he’d woken up.

“Fenris?”

Fenris tensed then he recognised the voice and relaxed, turning slightly to look at the man who had come to stand beside him.

“Knight-Cap…” He scowled and shook his head. “Your pardon. Commander.”

Cullen smiled wryly. “I’m not entirely used to it yet myself.”

Fenris eyed the Commander curiously. There was something different about the man… and not just his hair. Some tension that was no longer there, a weight removed from his shoulders, something that gave the man a different air from the one of anger and suspicion that had been prevalent back in Kirkwall. Fenris thought the change was an improvement. The barely suppressed anger and suspicion had given Cullen a brooding air in Kirkwall that had been oppressive and clouded much of the man.

“How long have you been with the Inquisition?” he asked.

“Cassandra recruited me in Kirkwall,” Cullen replied. “I was… glad to leave.”

Fenris snorted. “I think most people are glad to leave Kirkwall.”

“What of you? Did you wish to leave?”

Fenris shot the man a glance but he saw nothing other than honest inquiry on Cullen’s face.

“I… don’t know,” he said with half a shrug. “Kirkwall was where I truly gained my freedom but…” He grimaced and shook his head. “We could not stay. Hawke wished to draw the Chantry’s attention away from Kirkwall. We’d had some indication that the Divine was considering an Exalted March and given what happened…”

Cullen had looked startled when Fenris mentioned the possibility of an Exalted March but then he nodded. “I suppose it would have been a genuine concern.”

Fenris looked over at him curiously. “You did not follow through on Meredith’s declaration of the Right of Annulment.”

Cullen blinked and frowned. “Of course not. She didn’t have the authority to make that decision. A Knight-Commander can request permission for the Right but it needs to be approved by a Grand Cleric at the very least. With Elthina dead, permission would have needed to be sought from either the nearest Grand Cleric or the Divine herself.”

“Is that why you opposed her then?”

Cullen shifted awkwardly. “It was one of the reasons.”

Fenris nodded and fell silent, looking out over the frozen lake again. He could recognise the awkwardness of a man not wanting to talk about the subject at hand and he had no desire to alienate Cullen at this point in time. 

“You believe we are better off going after the Templars,” he said after several minutes, harking back to the conversation around the War Table.

Cullen took his time to reply but Fenris saw no need to hurry the man. He suspected that the fact that Cullen refused to wear the title of Knight-Captain anymore meant a great deal more than was obvious on the surface and the man’s responses just before only added to that speculation. He understood the need to shed past labels and attitudes, perhaps more than anyone else here, and how difficult it could be to do that. So he could be patient with Cullen.

“I know there are problems with the Templars and that the Order is far from blameless in everything that has happened,” Cullen said slowly. “But I’m reluctant to take the risk of pouring more magic into the Breach. I was a Templar and I know what they’re capable of. Their ability to suppress magic is formidable. I believe it would be safer to suppress the magic of the Breach to the point where you can handle it on your own.”

“I have reason to… distrust mages,” Fenris said. He couldn’t bring himself to say anymore.

Cullen frowned. “But Hawke… and you…” He blushed and looked down at his boots in a move Fenris found amusing. It reminded him of the man’s sudden bashfulness when he’d spoken of the women at the Blooming Rose. It had been an odd juxtaposition back then from the man’s fierce anger at the fate of the Templar trainees and it was still interesting now. Then Cullen’s expression darkened with anger, grief and guilt. “Anders though…”

Fenris shook his head. It had always frustrated him that he found it so difficult to talk about this. He knew why that was so but it was still frustrating. He disliked people making assumptions about him and without the ability to talk about this, assumptions were all they could make.

“Anders was…” He snarled and fought to stop his markings from flaring. It wasn’t worth agitating the mark on his hand over _Anders_. “It is not Anders. Not precisely.” He scowled again and rolled his shoulders to rid them of some of the tension that was knotting the muscles. “You did not hear of what happened in the Hanged Man?”

“I heard there was a pitched battle that from all reports involved blood magic and demons,” Cullen replied, not even pretending that he didn’t know what Fenris was talking about. “But Captain Aveline was insistent that the City Guard had dealt with the matter. Meredith wasn’t happy about that but those she subsequently sent to the Hanged Man reported nothing out of the ordinary.”

Fenris’ lips quirked into a small smile at that. He hadn’t known how Aveline had handled it. All he knew was that no one had asked him questions about it. He sobered again and stared out over the lake.

“It was my… former master, a Magister from Tevinter,” he said in a voice that was cool and slightly detached. He couldn’t afford to get angry right now, not with the way the mark interacted with his lyrium brands. “He had come to… reclaim his property. Namely, me.” He smirked coldly. “It did not go well for him.”

Cullen was silent beside him for a moment. “What a shame,” he said with such massive insincerity that Fenris actually gave a small laugh. “I can understand your dislike of mages.” Fenris felt the weight of the man’s gaze on his markings and well as the curiosity in his eyes, no doubt at his relationship with Hawke, but the former Templar said nothing about either subject, instead opting for, “I… cannot say I am overly comfortable around magic myself.” He seemed fight with himself in much the same way Fenris had. It was curious. “Do you know anything of what happened to the Circle in Fereldan?”

“Only that it fell,” Fenris replied. “Anders mentioned that much about it.”

Cullen grimaced. “It… it did. A mage named Uldred took over, using blood magic and abominations. Most of the Templars were killed. I was… held prisoner for some weeks until the Hero of Fereldan freed me.”

Fenris got the impression that there was a _wealth_ of things that could have been said there as well, things about what had happened to Cullen while he was a prisoner, things he’d seen and had done to him. But he was more than willing to return the silence Cullen had offered him in regards to his markings and how much they might have to do with his dislike of mages. It did seem that he and the former Knight-Captain had a few things in common though.

“What has magic touched that it has not spoiled,” he said with trenchant bitterness before he grimaced. He remembered when he’d said that to Hawke. The whole matter was far more complex than his simple statement but he had been hurt so badly by magic that sometimes it was hard to see past that. Hawke had managed to do that, to get past all his walls and prove him wrong, but few others ever had.

Cullen was silent again for a moment. “I have seen it do good things.”

“Do they outweigh the bad?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen said with a sigh. “But I… I let my anger and fear turn me into a terrible person in Kirkwall. I regret that. I intend to do better with the Inquisition.”

Fenris sighed and leaned against one of the pilings of the dock. “I suppose I must as well.”

“We have mages with us now and likely more will come,” Cullen said in a neutral tone. “As Herald of Andraste…”

Fenris cut him off with a snort. “Herald of Andraste. You cannot possibly believe that?”

“I only know what was reported to me,” Cullen replied. “You fell out of a rift and there was a figure of a woman behind you. She was glowing. Whether or not she was Andraste is something I’m not qualified to say.”

“You must have an opinion.”

Cullen sighed. “Whether or not it makes you her Herald, I’d… like to think she was Andraste. It would be nice to know that _someone_ is helping us.” He shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter what you or I think. The _people_ think you are the Herald of Andraste. It… gives them hope.”

“That a former elven slave from Tevinter is the _Herald of Andraste_?” Fenris said with annoyance.

“Shartan was a former elven slave from Tevinter and he was a herald of Andraste… in a certain way of looking at things,” Cullen replied. “People have already been making that comparison.”

Fenris stared at the man for a moment then he looked out over the frozen lake. Hawke had given him the book about Shartan and then taught him to read when he’d admitted his illiteracy. The lessons had been something he’d both looked forward to and dreaded with equal measure. He’d valued them for the skills he’d been taught as well as Hawke’s company but he’d dreaded them because his feelings about the man had still been so tumultuous at the time. He’d wanted the man with an ache that had almost frightened him but he’d also known that he couldn’t. Not then. He read relatively well now and that book was one he’d read many times. He’d even had it with him when he’d gone to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It was the one loss that he felt with a pang. 

“I am not Shartan.”

“I know,” Cullen said. “Look, you don’t have to believe it but it gives the people some hope.” He looked up at the now sullenly quiescent Breach. “They need it.”

Fenris followed his gaze but it didn’t make him feel much better about what they were calling him. It felt like a weight on his shoulders, one he didn’t want, certainly didn’t deserve, but couldn’t seem to avoid.

“How many people would that Seeker send after me if I chose to run?” he asked dryly.

Cullen chuckled. “Quite a few probably. Though most likely with orders to persuade you rather than force you back. Initially anyway.” He sobered. “You’re the only one who can close the rifts, Fenris. I know you didn’t ask for this or want it or anything like that but…”

Fenris sighed. “It is what it is.”

“It is what it is,” Cullen echoed in agreement. “Just know that Leliana, Cassandra, Josephine and I will stand by you. As will Varric and, I believe, Solas. You’re not without allies and friends here.”

A glance over at the former Templar told Fenris that the man meant what he had said. It was a strange sensation, one he’d felt to a certain extent with Hawke and their friends. More so here and now though. Perhaps it was because his acceptance here came not through _Hawke’s_ acceptance of him but on his own recognition, his own abilities and the strange mark Fate had seen fit to bestow upon him.

“Thank you.”

Cullen gave him a nod in reply and Fenris felt some of the muscles in his neck and shoulders unwind. He was not alone here. He had people who would guard his back for no other reason than because it was the right thing to do. It was an unusual feeling but one he couldn’t deny that he liked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric is a mother hen and in the absence of Hawke will protect Fenris. And Fenris has reached a point where he's willing to let Varric fuss.

“Been sucking on lemons, Broody?”

Fenris came out of his thoughts with a start and shot Varric a look of exasperation. “What?”

“You’re looking pretty sour there,” the dwarf observed with a sly smirk.

Fenris grumbled under his breath and looked around the Inquisition camp that had been set up near Dennet’s farm. Fighting their way past the mages and Templars between the crossroads and here had been frustrating and Dennet’s obstinacy had topped things off. Still, Fenris couldn’t fault the former horsemaster. There was little point sending horses to the Inquisition if they were never going to make it. And the horsemaster _had_ donated four fine horses for them to use. It was just a pity he was such a poor rider.

“Broody?” Varric said, sounding more concerned.

Fenris waved a hand. “I am fine. I did not realise how far the stupidity between the mages and Templars had spread.”

“Yeah, great work from Blondie,” Varric said with a bitterness that surprised Fenris. He gave the dwarf a curious look and Varric grumbled under his breath. “You know I didn’t exactly disagree with what he said about the way mages were treated.” He shot a grin at Fenris. “I know you did but I didn’t.”

He sighed. “I protected him because it was the right thing to do. Blondie was doing good things down in Darktown with his clinic and the mage underground. But you saw what he did to Kirkwall. It’s going to take years for the city to recover and that’s just the buildings. That’s not taking into consideration the people who died or were injured. Great chunks of building falling on people, their homes and their workplaces will do that. Add to that the disruption to trade in the city and people are doing it hard there now. He hurt a lot of innocent people who had nothing to do with any problems between the mages and the Templars.” 

The dwarf sighed again and his shoulders slumped. “Argh. It’s complicated, Broody. I liked the man. I still do. And I don’t think he’s exactly wrong in what he was saying. There were definitely problems in the Gallows and in other Circles. What he did though? _That_ was wrong. The Chantry needed to do something but blowing it up probably did more damage to the people of Kirkwall than it did to the Chantry as a whole. And what did it achieve? People are even _more_ afraid of mages than before, it instigated a war between the Templars and the mages that’s tearing its way over even _more_ innocent people’s homes and lives and now there’s a constant threat to Kirkwall from bloody _Sebastian_ , for all he goes on about rebuilding.” He shook his head. “I know what Blondie wanted to achieve but I’m not sure it’s going to happen in the wake of what he did. At least I don’t think it’s going to happen the way he wants it to.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow. He’d picked up something in the middle of that diatribe, apart from the fact that Varric’s care for Kirkwall and its people went a lot deeper than he’d thought. Anders was still Blondie but Sebastian was Sebastian. He frowned a little. Had Varric ever bestowed a nickname on Sebastian? Yes, he had. Choir boy. But he hadn’t used it just then. Varric used his nicknames almost exclusively so it had to mean something that he’d discarded Sebastian’s but still used Anders’ one.

Varric grinned a little self-consciously. “You really pushed a button there, Broody. Bet you weren’t expecting that?”

“It was worth knowing.”

“So what’s really got you looking so sour?” Varric asked, smoothly redirecting the conversation back to where it had started. “It can’t be just the fighting. That’s been going on for a while now.”

Fenris was silent for a moment. “You must have heard what they were saying back at the crossroads. When they thought I couldn’t hear them.”

“The Shartan stuff?”

Fenris nodded.

“You knew it was happening. Curly said he told you.”

“It is ridiculous! I am not…” He broke when he realised his voice had risen enough draw the attention of the Inquisition’s soldiers. He drew in a deep breath and continued in a lower tone. “I am _not_ Shartan.”

“I know,” Varric said soothingly. “Look, Broody… you can’t stop them. I could tell all the stories I wanted to try and divert their attention but that’s not going to stop them either. Don’t let it bother you. People will always think what they want to think. You just do what you have to do – close the rifts. The rest… the rest will take care of itself.”

“I am…” Fenris swallowed and was startled to find that he felt perilously close to tears. “I am not used to this. I am…”

“A good man,” Varric said then he grinned. “If a little cranky. And broody. And spiky.”

It drew a small laugh out of Fenris and he relaxed again. “I am… glad you are here, Varric.”

Varric smiled crookedly. “Hey, even I’m not mercenary enough to walk away from this.” He sobered and looked like he was about to say something then he gave Fenris a small nudge in the side. “I’m here as long as you are, Broody. You can count on that.”

Fenris let out a shuddering breath and for a moment then both just stood there then Varric gave him another nudge.

“Come on. The food should be ready.”

Fenris nodded and they returned to the campfire. Cassandra and Solas were already there, talking quietly, and they joined them.

“I noticed you are using the… abilities Varric described in our battles,” Cassandra said, clearly picking her words carefully. “You are no longer having difficulty with them?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Fenris said sourly.

“I have not yet been able to find a way to make the two work smoothly together,” Solas added, giving Fenris a look of concern.

“Then…” Cassandra looked slightly alarmed. 

“I have dealt with worse,” Fenris said with a scowl.

Varric rolled his eyes. “Just because you _have_ dealt with worse doesn’t mean you should have to now.”

Fenris glared at the fire then gave an exasperated sigh. “I am too used to using them in battle now. It is… all but automatic and I have moulded my combat style to their use. The pain is… tolerable.” He gave Varric a look. “Danarius used to do worse.”

“That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement.”

“I can bear it,” Fenris said firmly. “Until a solution can be found.”

“Broody,” Varric began but he was cut off by the raised eyebrow and the carefully veiled look of fond amusement he got from Fenris.

“Your mother hen tendencies are showing,” the elf said dryly.

“My mother hen tendencies only surface because the rest of you are idiots with no sense of self-preservation,” Varric grumbled though he looked as amused as Fenris did.

“That is Hawke you are talking about,” Fenris replied.

“No, it’s the whole damn lot of you,” Varric replied. “Bunch of idiots.”

Fenris chuckled then sobered. “I can endure it.”

“I shall endeavour to work a little more quickly,” Solas said. He then hesitated before continuing delicately, “Perhaps if I might be permitted to examine the markings more closely when we return to Haven?”

Fenris tensed and almost seemed to curl away from the elven mage. Varric exchanged a worried look with Solas and placed a hand very carefully on Fenris’ arm. He knew about Fenris’ aversion to touch but he also knew the elf had been more tolerant of it in recent years. For Hawke anyway. When _his_ touch wasn’t rejected, he spoke quietly.

“It’s Chuckles. Let him help.”

“I will not harm you, Fenris,” Solas said softly. “Or do anything to use the markings against you. I promise you that.”

Fenris watched the mage warily then he grimaced. “I… will think about it.”

Varric looked like he wanted to protest but Solas simply nodded. “Very well.”

Fenris shuddered and got to his feet. “I… need some time.”

They others watched as he stalked off in the direction of the farms. For a moment Varric looked like he wanted to get up and follow but he subsided with a sigh.

“He wouldn’t welcome my company right now,” he said in reply to Solas’ raised eyebrow. “Magic’s always been a real sticking point for him. Danarius was a solid gold bastard from what little I know.”

“He embedded lyrium in his slave’s skin so I believe that goes without saying,” Solas replied dryly.

“I… had thought you were exaggerating in your book,” Cassandra said, looking troubled.

Varric scratched his chin. “I probably was but in Broody’s case, I’m not always sure if my exaggerations were just that or whether I accidentally got a hell of a lot closer to the truth than I ever wanted to be.”

“It was worse than what was mentioned in your book?” Cassandra looked appalled.

“I don’t know.” Varric shrugged. “I think he might have told more to Hawke but if so, Hawke never mentioned it to me. There’s no reason he would and every reason he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t betray Broody’s trust so cheaply.”

“Yet despite his… issues with magic, his lover is a mage,” Solas said with a raised eyebrow.

Varric chuckled heavily. “Yeah, that was a hell of a thing to watch. Hawke was flirting with him from practically the moment they met and Broody? Well, he wasn’t sure what to make of that at first but it was pretty obvious he didn’t find it unwelcome. I got worried there for a while though. He was a hell of a lot more spiky then than he is now. He’s actually mellowed a bit. And those three years of pining were pretty painful to watch. Broody spent his time getting drunk in his stolen mansion until Rivaini would go and sober him up and Hawke would get drunk and mope on my shoulder. Their coping mechanisms were worse than mine. But it all worked out in the end.” He smiled ruefully. “For Broody, Hawke was the first mage to prove all his fears wrong. He still doesn’t like magic, don’t get me wrong, but Hawke is… the exception.”

“He seems fine with Solas,” Cassandra pointed out.

“He’s not stupid,” Varric replied firmly. “He’s more than capable of rational thought and reasoning. He distrusts mages and he has good reason to do so. Danarius was a shit of a person and Broody got the worst of it. But he’s not completely unreasonable. Give him a reason to trust and he will do so. Slowly but he’ll get there. Hawke showed him that magic and mages can be trusted but he still metes out that trust purely on a case by case basis.”

“Given what little we know of his background, that seems more than fair,” Solas said with a small nod. “I am not averse to earning his trust, Seeker.” He gave a small smile. “Just as I have with you.”

Cassandra nodded. “Very well. I suppose it is not my place to force him to do anything.”

“Damn right,” Varric muttered, ignoring the glare he got from the Seeker in return.

“Varric,” she said sharply but he cut her off with a gesture.

“No, Seeker. He’s helping us. He’s closing the rifts and doing his best to make a good impression for the Inquisition. He’s had enough damn people in his life try and control him. He doesn’t need that now.”

Cassandra reared back, her eyes flashing with anger, then she sighed and subsided, giving Varric a nod. “You are right. I will keep that in mind and make sure the others do as well.”

Varric was a bit taken aback by the Seeker’s sudden capitulation and he swallowed hard before replying. He knew Fenris’ facial expressions and body language well enough after ten years to know that the elf was uncertain and feeling very much out of his depth and perhaps even a little scared, little though he was likely to admit it, with his position in the Inquisition and all this Herald of Andraste and Shartan stuff. If no one else was going to champion the elf in the absence of Hawke, he damn well would. He’d just expected to have to fight Cassandra a bit more on the issue. Maybe he’d underestimated her.

“Thank you.”

“He is returning,” Solas said. “Perhaps a change of subject would be wise?”

Varric gave the elven mage a nod and began to spin a tale. By the time, Fenris was within hearing distance, he was warming to his subject and had drawn a look of amusement from Solas and a disgusted noise from Cassandra. Fenris paused to listen and then shook his head with a small smile as he recognised the story. He sat down though and let the somewhat tall tale unfold.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris takes up Solas' offer and finds out more than he anticipated.

Fenris stamped his feet in the boots Harritt had made for him and grimaced. He disliked wearing boots at the best of times but the cold, snow and ice were unrelenting in Haven and he’d come perilously close to frostbite when they’d returned from their first foray into the Hinterlands. The healers had insisted on the boots and Fenris had reluctantly complied.

“Harritt’s work?”

Fenris was standing on the dock at the frozen lake and once again Cullen had joined him. He found he didn’t mind the man’s company. Cullen knew the value of silence.

“The boots? Yes,” Fenris said sourly enough to draw a chuckle from Cullen.

“You don’t like them?”

Fenris grumbled under his breath. “They are… well-made. I just… don’t like boots.”

“I noticed you didn’t wear them back in Kirkwall.”

“I have rarely worn shoes of any description.” He paused. “At least that is what I remember.”

Cullen gave him a curious look for that phrasing but did not press the matter. He went up in Fenris’ estimation for that. He’d forgotten that Cullen would not know of his past and of the cost of the lyrium markings. He appreciated that Cullen did not pry despite the slip up.

“I’ve noticed many elves don’t,” Cullen said then he chuckled. “I think I’d rip my feet up if I tried that.”

“Initially you would but your feet would harden with time.”

“I’ll stick to boots.”

Fenris snorted and looked amused. He stared out over the frozen lake for a while then directed his gaze at Cullen. Perhaps the man could give him the advice he needed. They did have a similar aversion to magic after all.

“Do you trust Solas?”

Cullen frowned with confusion. “I… well… yes. He’s not led us false since he approached us.”

“Would you trust him to cast magic on you?”

Now Cullen shifted uncomfortably and it was his turn to stare out over the lake. Fenris waited patiently, not inclined to rush the man.

“Yes,” Cullen finally said. “I would.”

Fenris grunted in reply and frowned.

“Has he…” Cullen broke off then he shook his head. “This is about the mark on your hand and… your markings. I know he’s been looking into it and I saw you practising before you left for the Hinterlands. It didn’t look… comfortable.”

“It isn’t,” Fenris said with a grimace. “Solas thinks he can solve the problem but he wishes to examine the markings.”

“Ah, I see.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, clearly thinking. “I could assign one of the Templars we have here to go with you if you’d like? If he does something that makes you uncomfortable, the Templar could nullify his magic in an instant.”

Fenris frowned and looked at Cullen. That had been an interesting question. “Not you?”

“I…” Cullen broke off and actually turned away from a moment. “I’m no longer a Templar.”

Fenris became aware that he meant more than simply leaving the Order and he racked his brain for all that he knew of the Templars, which wasn’t much. More disparate facts than actual knowledge. Templars in Tevinter were soldiers but nothing more than that. The first time he’d seen Templars use their abilities in the south he’d been fascinated and oddly comforted. 

There had always been a half-formed thought that if Danarius came after him, he could always flee to the Templars and hope they could combat the Magister. It had never been more than a half-formed thought though. He hadn’t been willing to take the chance that the Templars might simply decide to hand him back to his former master. He wasn’t blind to the possible similarities between his life and the situation in some Circles, he just didn’t think the mages truly understood what slavery _actually_ meant. What kind of mindset it cultivated in a person. He’d admit that some Templars could be abusive but he was utterly derisive about the Circles being akin to slavery. That was a fool’s argument.

“You no longer take lyrium,” he said abruptly, remembering the former Templar who had been selling young mages into slavery in Kirkwall. He couldn’t remember the man’s name.

Cullen gave a start and stared at him. “How did you… ah, yes, you were involved in that mess with Samson.”

Fenris shrugged. “I was but I’ve picked up bits and pieces. I… tended to listen to as many conversations as I could. It’s easier to know what’s going on that way.”

“Right.” Cullen shifted from foot to foot. “Anyway, that’s why it couldn’t be me.”

“I… will think about it,” Fenris said, deciding to avoid the subject of the addictive qualities of lyrium. Cullen wasn’t a fool. He obviously knew what he was getting himself into and if he wanted Fenris’ help, he would ask. Until then, he would give the man his dignity.

They parted shortly afterwards as Cullen returned to training his recruits. Fenris met with Josephine to receive some more instruction about the various nobles who were clamouring around the newly fledged Inquisition. He lasted nearly an hour and a half this time before his impatience got the better of him. Josephine was getting better at reading him and she declared the session closed before he could lose his patience entirely and storm out. 

“I… apologise,” he said, coming to a halt with one hand on the doorhandle. “I know you are only trying to help.”

“It is quite alright, Herald,” Josephine replied soothingly. “There is no point trying to hold you here past the point where you can stand. You would learn nothing. If you are more comfortable learning in short bursts then that is what we shall do. Shall I leave the information in your cabin for you to read at your leisure? Perhaps that might help?”

Fenris hesitated then nodded. “Though I… do not read quickly. I did not learn until I was in Kirkwall,” he admitted reluctantly. He didn’t want to but the subject was bound to come up sooner rather than later and better that it was now at his own volition. This would also allow Josephine to handle any potential situations that might arise before he was embarrassed.

There was a moment’s silence behind him before Josephine collected herself. “Do you wish to continue as we have been then?”

Fenris turned and shook his head. For a moment, humiliation _burned_ through him and he had to work hard to stifle the urge to lash out at her. She would not use the information to humiliate or embarrass him. He’d worked with her enough to know she wasn’t like that. She would use it to _help_ him, to manage situations so that he wasn’t put at a disadvantage. _Everything_ she did was aimed at bolstering not only his image but that of the Inquisition. 

“No, this will help. I can read. Hawke taught me. I just read slowly and some words still give me difficulty.”

Josephine nodded her understanding. “Please just ask me if you require any explanations and…” She paused and gave him an open look. “Thank you, Herald. For trusting me with this.”

Fenris was silent for a moment then he gave an awkward nod. “You needed to know.” 

He quickly slipped out of the room before anything more could be said on the subject. He hurried out of the Chantry and around the back of the nearby cabins. He could feel Leliana’s eyes on him but she made no move to follow, much to his relief. In the end, he found himself coming around the side of the hut Solas occupied and made a snap decision.

“I will do it,” he said abruptly as he came up from behind the mage.

To his credit, Solas did not jump or snap or show any sign of surprise and instead raised an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps we should go inside. Would you be more comfortable in your cabin?”

Fenris shook his head. “No, it’s alright here.”

Solas ushered him into the cabin that had been assigned to him and had him lie down on the bed. Fenris lay there stiffly and tried not to twitch and tense every time the mage came near. The setting was too close to the few times his injuries had been too much for Hawke to heal and the mage had forced him to seek help from Anders for him to relax in any way.

“What do you recall of the process of placing the markings?” Solas asked as he knelt beside the bed.

Fenris couldn’t control the flinch at that question. “Nothing.”

Solas cocked his head and frowned. “This… Danarius person said nothing to you?”

“If he did, I do not recall.” Fenris scowled. “I remember nothing of what happened but the pain. It also robbed me all memories of my life before the markings were placed, even my name.”

The sudden stillness from Solas drew his attention. The mage was almost vibrating with rage, an emotion that was drawn under wraps the moment he realised Fenris was looking at him.

“Forgive me,” Solas said. “I did not realise the extent…” He drew in a deep breath. “It is good that he is dead.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Fenris said. “You didn’t know.”

Solas smiled slightly. “Please tell me immediately if anything I do hurts you.”

Fenris nodded then flinched when the magic suddenly washed over his body. It took all of his willpower to remain where he was and not flee from the cabin and perhaps the entire _village_. But it didn’t hurt so he gritted his teeth and stayed where he was. When the spell continued to do little more than simply tingle, he slowly began to relax as much as he ever could around magic.

After several minutes, Solas rose to his feet and moved around to the other side of the bed. He frowned a little and placed one hand over the mark on Fenris’ hand.

“Would you be willing to activate your markings?” the mage asked in a slightly abstracted tone. “I know it will hurt but I would like to see how the mark and the lyrium interact.”

Fenris nodded and concentrated. The markings flared white and then the mark on his hand flared as well. He grunted at the sudden pain and let the markings settle again.

“Thank you,” Solas said.

The mage stayed where he was for a moment longer then he sat back on his heels and the wash of magic over Fenris faded. The mage frowned and then nodded to himself.

“I believe I can solve this problem,” he said then he sighed. “It will be painful though.”

“Painful enough to rob me of my memories?” Fenris asked.

Solas’ eyes widened and he shook his head. “No, not like that.”

“Then do it.”

“Are you sure?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

Solas looked uncertain for a moment then he inclined his head, clearly willing to trust Fenris’ judgement. He placed his hand back on Fenris’ hand. “Brace yourself.”

Fenris did just that and it was just as well he did. This time when the magic started again, it was concentrated on his hand and it was far stronger than before. At first, nothing happened then his markings and the mark on his hand both flared into life and pain lashed at him from both. He arched on the bed but bit down on the scream that threatened. He felt Solas’ hand clamp tightly around his wrist to keep it still and he tried not to pull away. Then as quickly as it started, the pain died along with the flaring of the various markings. He slumped back onto the bed and concentrated on breathing.

“Fenris?” came Solas’ quiet voice.

Fenris realised that at some point he’d closed his eyes and now he opened them. “I… am fine.”

“Can you stand?”

Fenris shifted to stand, at first gingerly then with confidence as his body responded normally. He flexed his marked hand for a moment then flashed into his lyrium ghost state. The markings flared white and he all but vanished but this time it happened as quickly as he was used to and what was more, the mark on his hand stayed quiescent. He let the ghost state fade and smiled at Solas, perhaps his first genuine smile since he’d woken in Haven.

“It worked.”

“So I see,” Solas said with amusement as he pushed himself to his feet. “I am pleased. As it turned out, I was wrong. The problem came not from the two sets of marks needing to be integrated but from them needing to be separated. The magic from one was bleeding over into the other and they are… not very compatible types of magic. I forced a separation between them and made that separation permanent. You should have no trouble from them now.”

“Thank you,” Fenris said.

Solas hesitated then and gestured towards the bed. His body language had become very unassuming and nonthreatening, almost deferential, much like it was when he was dealing with Cassandra. Seeing it used towards him made Fenris suddenly very wary. 

“Please sit, Fenris. There is something else I noticed about the markings that I feel you ought to know. I suspect you do not.”

Fenris frowned but sat. “What is it?”

“Did you have much magic used on you when you were in Kirkwall, beyond combat and healing magic that is?”

Fenris gave a start then _blushed_. Something he usually only did when Hawke was being ridiculously sweet. But that question…

“I… yes… towards the end anyway,” he admitted awkwardly.

“In what fashion?” Solas asked.

Fenris hesitated. “Is it important?” 

“I believe so, yes.”

He was silent for a long moment and was well aware the blush was lingering. “Hawke… sometimes feeds a little of his magic into them.”

Solas cocked his head curiously. “For what purpose?”

“It is… pleasurable,” Fenris admitted through gritted teeth. He could never be ashamed of anything he and Hawke did when it came to sex but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it to others. “We discovered it by accident. And… having someone touch the markings is usually uncomfortable, especially when it is a mage, but after we discovered this, Hawke’s touch became… tolerable.”

“I see,” Solas said, a glimmer of understanding and amusement in his eyes that oddly enough set Fenris at ease. “Forgive me for asking this but Danarius’ touch? Did it ever become… tolerable?”

Fenris flinched and snarled silently for a brief moment. “No. But he would never have wished it to be so.”

Solas frowned for a moment then hummed quietly to himself. “Intent. Yes, that does make some sense.” He turned his attention back to Fenris. “Your markings are inherently unstable. I cannot tell whether this was deliberate or simply their nature. Without contact with magic – and by that I mean magic beyond spells being cast at you in battle and even healing magic – the markings will destabilise. I cannot tell what would happen in that case but it would likely not be pleasant. Obviously what you have been doing with Hawke has kept them stable and strong but I believe, from what you have told me, it has done something more. It has… attuned them to Hawke in some way that I cannot quite determine.”

Fenris surged to his feet in a rage, narrowly avoiding bowling the elven mage over. He paced around the small cabin, muttering dire imprecations in Tevene.

“It was deliberate,” he snarled. “It must have been.”

“Why?” Solas asked quietly.

“Because Danarius would like nothing more than to see me tethered to him… to any mage… for the rest of my life,” Fenris growled. “To be… subject to their whims for my very survival.”

The silence that fell then was profound and Fenris came to a halt, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped as his anger flowed out of him to be replaced by despair.

“I will never be free,” he muttered, defeat written in every line of his body.

He flinched when a hand came to rest on his shoulder and only relaxed when Solas withdrew it.

“I do not know the man beyond Varric’s tales but do you believe that Hawke would use you in such a way?” Solas asked gently. “That he would tether you? Subject you to his whims?”

Fenris was silent and still for a long, long time then he slowly shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “If I wished for my freedom, he would let me go, no matter what the cost would be to either of us.”

“Do you trust him to do so?”

Again he was silent for a time as he thought that through then he nodded. “I trust him with everything.”

“Do you love him and does he love you?”

Fenris nodded jerkily. “Yes.” He didn’t have to think about that one or hesitate over it. He knew how he felt even if he was not adept at expressing it and Hawke had made no secret of his own feelings.

“Then trust him with this,” Solas said quietly. “It is unnerving to place one’s heart and soul into the hands of another but if one has chosen the right person, it is a gift of unparalleled beauty and joy.”

The elven mage backed off a little. “Nevertheless I will do my best to find a way to free you from this,” he said with an intensity that was astonishing, especially in contrast to the gentleness than had come before. Fenris had never seen the elf like this before. “Until I can or until Hawke can be found and reunited with you, I will see that the markings do not destabilise. You will never be beholden to me. I will swear whatever oath you deem satisfactory to that effect.”

“Why?” Fenris whispered. “Why would you do this?”

When Solas rested his hand on his shoulder this time, Fenris did not shrug it off.

“Because you deserve to be free,” Solas replied. “I need no other reason than that.”

Fenris bowed his head further and nodded. He felt something brush through his hair briefly then Solas was heading for the door.

“Take your time, fierce wolf. Come out only when you are ready.”

The quiet words floated across the room and then Solas was gone. Fenris frowned. Fierce wolf? Why did he feel like Solas had called him that before? The thought faded before he could capture it and he sat down again to try and rebuild his composure.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's off to Val Royeaux to meet the Chantry, the Templars and the mages and then it's recruitment time. A trip to Redcliffe reveals a situation that even Fenris can't ignore.

Fenris wasn’t sure whether the trip to Val Royeaux had been useful or a complete waste of time. Certainly the city had been as gaudy and garish as he’d expected, based on what he remembered of Chateau Haine and the people who had attended the hunt and subsequent ball. The Chantry had been as obstinate as ever but they _had_ made some sort of contact with both the Templars and the mages, though he could only roll his eyes at the obnoxious superiority Grand Enchanter Fiona had exhibited and her automatic assumption that the Templars were responsible for a _magical_ explosion. Typical mage. Blaming everyone but her own.

They’d also received an invitation to a soiree of all things from yet another mage and an odd message from an anonymous source that told them of a potential threat and gave an offer of help. Their return to Haven had resulted in Leliana telling him about a stray Grey Warden she’d like him to contact and when he walked out of the Chantry, he was confronted by a man with a Tevinter accent that jolted him out of the disgruntled mood that had been brought about by the others continually thrusting leadership on his shoulders. People like Hawke were leaders, not him.

“I’m having trouble finding someone to take my message.”

Fenris gave the Tevinter soldier a long look, wondering what he was doing here, before he finally answered. “What is your message?”

He saw the blink as the soldier recognised his own accent and now they were watching each other with just an edge of wariness on both sides.

“My name is Cremisius Aclassi and I’m a Lieutenant in the Bull’s Chargers,” the man said. “My Captain, the Iron Bull, wants to work with the Inquisition.”

“You’re a mercenary?”

“Yes, ser,” Aclassi said crisply.

“And your Captain?”

Fenris could see Aclassi swallow down his immediate, probably smart-alecky, response. “The Iron Bull. He’s, uh, one of those Qunari. You know, big, horns, all that.”

Fenris did know, though he didn’t inform Aclassi of that. The man _did_ have his attention however. A mercenary company lead by a Qunari with a Tevinter Lieutenant? For that alone he was willing to meet them at least.

“Where did he want to meet?”

“He’s got a line on some Tevinter mercenaries on the Storm Coast,” Aclassi said, falling back into crisp professionalism. “He invites the Inquisition to come and see the Chargers at work.”

“Then we will do so.”

Aclassi snapped off a salute and Fenris gave him a nod in reply. He watched the man disappear towards the tavern then turned and went back into the Chantry. He was going to need to speak to the others about going to the Storm Coast to meet these mercenaries.

\--

The Storm Coast certainly lived up its name. Fenris had been soaked through since they’d gotten here and he listened to Scout Harding’s explanation of the situation with resignation. It looked like he was going to get even wetter before he could leave. He nodded his thanks to Harding and turned back to the others.

“Sounds like more trouble.”

“As always,” he said sourly.

Varric laughed and clapped him on the arm before slinging Bianca onto his back. Fenris grumbled under his breath and lead them out of the camp towards where the Chargers were supposed to be waiting for them. It wasn’t difficult to find them. The battle had just been engaged and Fenris drew his massive sword and joined in without hesitation, grateful for the opportunity for simple action. Between the Chargers and his small group, the Tevinter mercenaries were swiftly dispatched. 

The huge Qunari issued orders to his people as Fenris approached. “Iron Bull, I presume,” he said dryly.

“You got it,” Bull replied and Fenris became aware that as closely as he was assessing the Qunari, he was being assessed in return.

The conversation progressed well enough until the Iron Bull somewhat sheepishly revealed himself to be Ben-Hassrath. Fenris tensed and glared, the memory of Tallis and her machinations strong in his mind.

“Guess you know of us,” Bull said amiably.

Fenris snorted. “I have been living in Kirkwall and I have had dealings with the Ben-Hassrath in the past.”

As he watched, Bull’s eye narrowed then widened slightly. “Huh. Read a few reports about Kirkwall. Some of them mentioned a tattooed elf with a big sword who was with the Champion.” His eye flickered over the rest of Fenris’ group, lingering on Varric. “And a dwarf with a crossbow.”

“Is that so?” Fenris said in as close to a neutral tone as he could manage.

Bull gave a hearty laugh and smacked him gently on the shoulder. “I get plenty of reports from all over Orlais and other places. You let me and my boys join and they’re all yours. Your Spymaster should be able to put them to use if she’s any good.”

“She?”

Bull looked unrepentant. “I’ve done a little research myself.” He grinned. “And I’ve got a thing for redheads.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. It was suddenly like standing next to a large male Qunari version of Isabela, a comparison she would probably take umbrage with. “And what will you send to them?”

“Nothing your Spymaster hasn’t seen first,” Bull said. “The Qunari are worried about this big hole in the sky and want to know whether they need to invade to set things right. You let me join and report back to them and we can set some minds at ease.”

That was a fairly compelling argument to Fenris. He’d seen what happened when the Qunari decided they wanted to take over and solve other people’s problems. Southern Thedas had enough trouble already without the Qunari adding to it.

“Meravas1,” he said. “Welcome to the Inquisition.”

Bull blinked his use of Qunlat then laughed boisterously and clapped him on the shoulder again. “This is going to be good! Krem! Tell the boys to get ready. We’re joining the Inquisition!”

\--

Fenris almost wished he was back on the Sword Coast when he walked into the soiree he’d been invited to by Madame Vivienne. The woman got his hackles up almost immediately but nonetheless he accepted her offer to join the Inquisition. No matter what the others might think, he did not consider it his place to say no unless he deemed them an absolute risk. Vivienne certainly wasn’t that and she was, quite frankly, the most sensible mage he’d ever met despite her snobbish superiority and her tendency to call him ‘darling’. He hadn’t met many mages who realised that the Circles were necessary. Also she had experience in the Orlesian court and he had none. He would be a fool to turn down her expertise.

After her, accepting Sera and Blackwall had been easy enough. They were an odd group but he was less interested in them personally as he was with their skills. Nevertheless, when he ventured back to the Hinterlands to take care of a few more things that had arisen, it was still Cassandra, Varric and Solas that he took with him.

They had returned to the crossroads to give the elven man the potion he needed for his wife when Cassandra asked the inevitable question.

“Are we going to Redcliffe?”

Fenris scowled. “It is nearby,” he admitted reluctantly. He’d rather leave the mages to their own devices.

“We could stop in and see what they have to say,” Varric said with a shrug. “If you don’t like it, we can leave and speak to the Templars.”

“Varric is correct,” Cassandra added. “We need not make any decisions today.”

Fenris grumbled under his breath then looked over at Solas. “I suppose you have an opinion on this?”

Solas looked amused. “I do but the decision is yours, irrespective of what I think.”

Fenris snorted then he shook his head. “We’ll go and talk to them. I hardly think they’re going to do anything other than whine about how poorly treated they are.”

He ignored the reactions of the others and led the way out of the crossroads towards Redcliffe. One nasty fight and one closed rift later and they were approaching the outskirts of Redcliffe where they encountered another rift doing some very odd things. Compounding that was the arrival of the mage to tell them the rebel mages had handed themselves over to a Tevinter Magister.

Varric took one look at Fenris’ face once the mage had left and hurried them up a side path towards an old abandoned windmill. The moment they were out of earshot of anyone else, Fenris let loose a stream of Tevene curses.

“You know this Magister Alexius, Broody?” Varric asked when Fenris had gotten the worst of it out of his system.

“No,” Fenris growled. “Not the name anyway. I may know his face.” He sneered. “How typical to see the mages complain about being kept captive and then turn around and freely sign themselves up as _slaves_.”

“I though he said indentured servitude?” Varric said.

Fenris snorted. “Very well. One very narrow rung barely above slavery. With the likelihood of ending up in true slavery once the ten years is up.” He gave them a flat look. “Indentured servitude does not come with a requirement to pay the person more than one copper a day. Nor does it come with any requirement not to charge for accommodation, food and so on. They will end their servitude in significant debt and be forced into slavery to pay for it. It is the favourite trick of the Magisters. Threaten slavery then offer indentured servitude as though it is a boon.”

“Is it worth going and meeting the mages then?” Cassandra asked, looking disgusted.

“We should at least see what this Magister has to say,” Solas urged. “And if the mages have indeed been so foolish…” He hesitated for only a moment. “Perhaps they need rescuing from themselves?”

Fenris gave Solas a flat look and paced back and forth. The last thing he wanted to do was put himself within arm’s reach of a Magister, especially an unknown one. But they were here and the Magister was now expecting them.

“Very well,” he snarled before turning and stalking down the hill.

“This is going to be fun,” Varric muttered as they caught up with the irate elf.

The walked into the inn to find it full of mages and Varric saw Fenris’ shoulders tense. He was half-expecting an explosion but it was derailed by Fiona’s surprise at seeing them and the fact she had no recollection of meeting them in Val Royeaux. Then the Magister appeared, all smarmy smiles and false politeness.

Fenris struggled to hold onto his temper with the Magister. He was exactly how he remembered them, even if this one was a stranger to him, snide and smug and superior. His anger warred with the ingrained instincts of a slave to bow and scrape and avoid a Magister’s anger and had the Magister’s son, Felix, not suddenly taken a turn and required catching, Fenris was sure he’d have done _something_ permanent. At first he thought that was why the young man had done that, until he felt the piece of paper being shoved up his sleeve. He waited until the Magister had departed with his apparently ailing son and Fiona in tow then pulled the paper out.

He frowned at it, grateful the writing was clear and plain. “Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.”

“Oooh, mysterious,” Varric said.

Cassandra frowned. “This could be a trap.”

Fenris snorted. “It probably is but we are forewarned.”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he pushed open the doors of the Chantry several minutes later but a rift, demons and a mage battling said demons hadn’t been one of them.

“Oh, good. You’re here,” the man said in the crisp accent of a very highly-ranked Tevinter mage. Fenris flinched just hearing it. “Help me close this rift.”

The rift roiled and hissed then burst open, spilling wisps and demons into the Chantry. This was something Fenris knew how to deal with and he pulled out his sword, darting into battle with Cassandra running lightly at his side. A shimmer and a hum told him Solas had cast a barrier over both of them and the ka-chunk of Varric’s crossbow followed soon after.

The battle was short and vicious and after the second wave of demons had been dealt with, Fenris closed in on the rift and raised his hand. The mark on his hand connected with the rift and in moments it was closed.

“How do you do that?” The Tevinter mage asked then he laughed before Fenris could answer. “You don’t even know, do you? You just stretch out your hand and boom! Rift closed.”

“Who are you?” Fenris snapped. “I was expecting Felix.”

The mage turned to look at him properly and Fenris saw the man give a start then he went pale and his eyes widened.

“Vishante kaffas!” the mage said, looking shocked. “It’s you.”

Fenris frowned and became aware that Varric had taken a slightly protective position on his left. 

“Who are you?” he snarled, the adrenaline from the battle was fading but a more primal fear was surfacing at the mage’s apparent recognition of him.

The mage gave a weak laugh. “Yes, well, we were both much younger back then and I was sulking because Father had…” He shook his head as though shaking that thought away. “We met very briefly.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Well, not _met_ , that would imply… well, anyway, that fool who owned you was trying to impress my father and gain some sort of respectability.” He gave a false smile and bowed slightly. “I am Dorian of House Pavus, recently of Minrathous.”

Fenris became aware that the mage seemed rather shaken and he gave the man a closer look. That was when the recognition came. The mage had been younger, maybe in his mid-teens, certainly no older than seventeen or eighteen, and lacked the moustache he wore now but the eyes hadn’t changed. He remembered him and the older man who had been with him. Or rather, he remembered the horrified look on the mage boy’s face when he’d seen the lyrium markings on Fenris’ body. He’d been stripped to little more than a loincloth at the time so they had been on show. He also remembered the older man’s fury at Danarius. He remembered both of those reactions because of how unusual they had been.

“You made it.”

They _all_ jumped at the voice then Felix came hurrying out of the shadows at the rear of the Chantry but they were distracted from what had gone before by Felix and Dorian’s revelation of Alexius’ true allegiances and his manipulation of time magic that was affecting the rifts. Then the two Tevinter mages left and they were left alone in the Chantry. Fenris glared in the direction Dorian had taken and then led them out of the Chantry without a further word. In fact, he refused to say another word until they were well clear of Redcliffe.

“So what now, Broody?” Varric asked, shifting his shoulders to settle Bianca a little better.

Fenris was silent for a moment longer as he chewed on his decision. It galled him to have to say what he was going to say but not even he could ignore this.

“We cannot allow a Tevinter Magister to stay,” he forced out through gritted teeth.

He was half tempted to let the mages suffer for their foolishness but that would mean allowing a Magister to gain several hundred new mage slaves. Let them think it was _indentured servitude_. That just showed them to be utter fools. Indentured servitude in Tevinter was slavery by another name and no matter that they were mages, he would not allow more slaves to be taken.

The others seemed to realise that further discussion as probably unwise at the moment as all Cassandra said was, “Let us return to Haven and discuss this with the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 So shall it be. 
> 
> And yes, you're getting one of my favourite things - the idea that Fenris and Dorian 'met' in Tevinter. As much as an Altus mage boy and a slave can meet, which is not much when you think about it. I'm also giving Halward Pavus the benefit of the doubt here. He certainly seems to have had at least some relatively liberal leanings until he decided to be a complete douche about Dorian.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris finds himself in the future with Dorian. He is unimpressed with both of those things. He is equally unimpressed with Grand Enchanter Fiona and in the end, she's probably not impressed with him. He couldn't care less.

The green mist cleared and Fenris found himself shin deep in water with Dorian next to him. Facing them were two of the Venatori soldiers.

“Blood of the Elder One!” one of them said. “Where did they come from?”

Fenris didn’t give them time to wonder. He drew his sword and leapt forward, flashing into his lyrium ghost state to confuse them further. He heard the detonation of fire spells as well as the whisper of a barrier around himself but ignored both in favour of the battle. It didn’t take long to cut them down then he turned on Dorian and had him up against the nearest wall in a second, his arm across the other man’s throat, his hand glowing white and hovering near the man’s chest.

“What did you do, mage?” he snarled.

Dorian looked singularly unimpressed as he tugged at Fenris’ arm. “Well, if you’d like to stop strangling me, I _might_ have a chance to answer that.”

Fenris let him go slowly. “Talk.”

Dorian straightened his robes with an irritated look. “You may have noticed that it was Alexius who tried to use the amulet. I countered it and we’ve ended up… here.”

“And where is here?”

Dorian looked around with a frowned. “I suspect it’s not _where_ but _when_.”

Fenris flinched a little then snarled. “And who is this Elder One? He was at the Conclave.”

“I don’t know.” Dorian snorted. “Probably a Magister who thinks far too much of himself and is playing with things he shouldn’t be.” He affected a mocking tone. “Let’s play with magic we don’t understand. It will make us incredibly powerful.”

Fenris gave him a somewhat baffled look. “You are not like any Magister I have ever met.”

“That is because I am not a Magister,” Dorian said loftily. “I am an Altus and the Magisters you met were mostly Danarius’ friends and _he_ was a bottom feeder.”

Fenris knew how things were in the Imperium and thus knew that if Dorian was an Altus, his father was a Magister and their family was likely very highly ranked. No wonder Danarius had been pandering to the man all those years ago. If there was one thing Danarius had wanted more than anything else, it was status and rank.

“Let’s go,” he said abruptly as he started rummaging through the Venatori guards’ clothes. He found the key to the door and unlocked it, leading the way through the dungeons they had ended up in. “Can you get us back?”

“I have some thoughts on the subject,” Dorian said lightly. “They’re lovely thoughts. Like little jewels.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“I don’t have an _answer_ just yet,” Dorian said. “Not until I know what’s happening. But I do have some thoughts.”

It didn’t take long to determine that they were indeed still in Redcliffe castle but it wasn’t until they found Cassandra and Varric that they worked out that they had been thrown a year into the future. Fenris was a little distracted from that by the preponderance of red lyrium in the place and the obvious infection of the others. He could feel the red lyrium singing to the brands on his skin, far worse than he’d ever felt around the statue they’d found in the thaig or when they had fought Meredith. He shifted away from Cassandra and Varric as they pulled on their armour and weapons, both of which had been found nearby.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked quietly. “You look rather like you’re about to bolt for the door.”

Fenris scowled at him then shifted his shoulders. “The red lyrium is… unsettling.”

Dorian’s gaze flickered down to the brands on his chin and neck and he grimaced. “After seeing what it has done to Fiona, I suspect we should keep you well clear of it as much as possible.”

Fenris shot him a sharp look. “You believe it will…”

“React with the lyrium in your skin? I don’t know. But it’s clearly setting you on edge.”

“You don’t feel it?” Fenris growled.

“Oh, I can feel it and hear it and it’s unnerving to say the least,” Dorian said candidly, surprising Fenris. “But it’s not driving me up the wall, which I would guess it is with you.”

Fenris grumbled under his breath but was saved from any further reply by Cassandra and Varric approaching them. He did his best to meet their gaze but it was difficult to look at the red tinge in their eyes and not flinch. He wondered whether Meredith had had the same red in her eyes and if so, why no one had noticed.

They fought their way through the castle and Fenris pushed them hard, taking advantage of any Venatori supplies that they found in the rooms they searched. He’d quietly seethed when they found Leliana being tortured and had accepted her brusque manner with no trace of offence. He knew some of the worst the Magisters of Tevinter could do and could find no fault with her anger.

When they finally opened the door to the inner chamber, he could only feel pity for what had become of Felix. He’d never seen a Blighted individual before but he’d heard descriptions and Felix matched those to a tee. He knew Aveline’s husband had become Blighted during their escape from Lothering but she had possessed the strength that Alexius lacked – the strength to end her loved one’s misery. 

Leliana then took matters out of their hands and the ensuing fight was brutal but came to its inevitable conclusion. Dorian was able to reverse the Magister’s spell and their return to the present was… anti-climactic. Not that Fenris was inclined to complain. He’d had enough fighting for today. He was more than ready to leave when the Fereldan troops arrived with King Alistair. 

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” the king said with a thread of sarcasm running through his voice. “Imagine my surprise when I found you’d given away Redcliffe Castle to a Tevinter Magister. Especially since I’m fairly sure the castle belongs to Arl Teagan.”

“King Alistair!” Fiona said, wringing her hands obsequiously. “We didn’t…”

The king’s gaze had shifted to the others in the room and a look of surprise appeared on his face when he saw Fenris.

“Oh, hello,” he said in a far friendlier manner. “You’re… Hawke’s friend, aren’t you? We met in Kirkwall.”

Fenris tensed and tried not to draw back into the shadows. “We did,” he said, managing to keep his voice polite. 

“Fenris is the Herald of Andraste,” Cassandra said firmly, coming up to stand at Fenris’ right shoulder.

“Oh… right,” Alistair replied. “Always good to know the Inquisition is in good hands.” He turned back to Fiona and sighed. “I wanted to help you, Grand Enchanter, but you’ve made it impossible. You and your followers are no longer welcome in Fereldan.”

Fenris nodded his approval of the king’s decision. What Fiona had done in handing over Redcliffe to Tevinters could easily be called treason and she was lucky all King Alistair was doing was exiling her and her followers. No doubt many of his people were calling for Fiona’s head.

Fiona looked distressed. “But… we have hundreds needing protection. Where will we go?”

Fenris could feel the looks he was getting and he swallowed the urge to leave Fiona to her own devices. He supposed he could justify it that given what she had already done, she was just as likely to hand herself and the rebel mages over to someone else who would misuse them. Perhaps Solas had been right in saying the mages needed to be saved from themselves.

He stepped forward and said flatly, “You’ll be leaving with the Inquisition.”

He almost laughed when Fiona took on a haughty air and said, “And what are the terms of this arrangement?”

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you,” Dorian said, stepping forward. “The Inquisition _is_ better than that, yes?”

Fenris glared at the Tevinter mage. As far as he was concerned, as long as he didn’t actually enslave them or submit them to indentured servitude then he was doing a great deal better than Alexius.

“I suggest conscripting them,” Cassandra said firmly. “They’ve proven what they’ll do, given too much freedom.”

Fenris was inclined to agree with her. He arched an eyebrow at Varric and the dwarf snorted. “Mages can be good friends, Broody. You know that.”

“I also know what else they can do,” Fenris said flatly then he turned back to Fiona.

The Grand Enchanter drew herself up and Fenris was pleased to see that she seemed to be coming to some sort of understanding that she herself had taken the future of the mages out of their hands and placed it firmly in the hands of others.

“It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer,” she said in a rather brittle manner.

Fenris raised his chin. “You will surrender yourselves as prisoners and conscripts of the Inquisition.”

Fiona looked worried. “We shouldn’t have accepted the Magister’s _help_ , I know, but…”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Fenris said bluntly. “We cannot close the Breach without you but we would be fools to trust you. You have proven yourselves. It is not the fault of the Inquisition that the proof is failure and betrayal.”

Fiona shrank back and King Alistair stepped forward, drawing Fenris’ attention.

“I wish the Inquisition all the best and I‘d like Redcliffe back to normal by sundown tomorrow.”

The king’s support of Fenris’ decision took the last of the wind out of Fiona’s sails and she nodded.

“Then we have no choice but to surrender to the Inquisition. I’ll go prepare for the journey to Haven. The Breach must be closed. We must do what we can to restore peace to a world that sorely needs it.”

She turned and left. Fenris watched her go then nodded to Cassandra and gestured towards the retreating mage. The Seeker nodded and followed Fiona out of the room. Fenris turned back to the king.

“If we are to have them gone by tomorrow, I am afraid we cannot linger here, Your Majesty.”

Alistair smiled wryly. “I know and good luck to you, Fenris. Let me know if I can help in any way.”

Fenris bowed and gathered Varric and Dorian with a nod. He only relaxed when they had also left the room. 

“And what is to become of me?” Dorian asked once they were well clear of the hall. “Am I to be made prisoner as well?”

Fenris snorted. “Do not tempt me. Return to Tevinter, if you wish.”

“And if I wish to remain and help the Inquisition?”

Fenris came to a halt and gave the mage a suspicious look. “Why? Do you intend to spy?”

Dorian sighed dramatically. “Not every Tevinter is like your late, very much unlamented master. Some of us actually don’t want some screaming lunatic to take over and drag us back into the dark ages. Some of us actually find that idea rather distasteful.”

Fenris gave Dorian a narrow-eyed look but as far as he could tell, the mage wasn’t lying. He scowled then nodded sharply. “Very well.” He turned and stalked off, muttering under his breath in Tevene.

“Such a warm welcome,” Dorian said dryly.

“Well, he didn’t shove his hand into your chest so I’d say… yeah,” Varric quipped as they followed Fenris.

Dorian was rather nonplussed for a moment. “Huh. That is a positive when you say it like that.”

Varric laughed and clapped Dorian on the back. “Welcome to the Inquisition, Sparkler.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... I'd imagine you're wondering what Hawke's been doing through all of this and how he's going to react when he finds out what's happened to Fenris...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, you're up to date with everything that's currently written and checked so updates will be a bit slower from now on.

Hawke tipped his chair back against the wall in the taproom of the tavern and watched Stroud as he chatted with a gaggle of old men near the fireplace. They’d been travelling for weeks trying to sort out this mess with the Wardens. Recently they’d been out of touch with civilisation and had returned so that Stroud could get further information and they could resupply. Hawke was just enjoying the idea of food he didn’t have to cook and an actual bed to sleep in. And ale. He couldn’t forget the ale.

Having Fenris here would have been the ideal but… Stroud had initially thought the red lyrium was somehow involved and he hadn’t wanted his lover anywhere near the stuff. As it turned out, while there was certainly something going on with the red lyrium, whatever was wrong with the Wardens was a separate matter. And now he was worried that Fenris was going to get caught up in the red lyrium while he wasn’t there to keep him safe. He’d made his promise to Stroud though and he didn’t intend to break it.

He reached out for his tankard of ale and the conversation going on at the next table caught his attention.

“This Inquisition’s doing some good work.”

“Yeah?”

“Haven’t you heard about what they’ve done down near Redcliffe?”

“Heard about what happened in Val Royeaux but not much more than that.”

“Cleared out the rebel mages, didn’t they? And sorted out the rogue Templars. It’s calmed right down there.”

“Damn. Didn’t really think much of the Inquisition when I heard about them. I mean, a group led by an elf of things ain’t something I’d say was worth much, especially since they’re ignoring the Chantry and all.”

“Hah! That elf isn’t one I’d mess with. Have you heard of the sword he carries? Bloody great thing and he knows how to use it or so I’ve heard. And those tattoos of his! Brrr.”

“What about them? Seen tattooed elves. Bloody Dalish are more trouble than they’re worth.”

“Nah, this isn’t the same. Corvo’s seen the elf. He’s got these white tattoos on him that glow when he fights.”

“Glow? Get out of here.”

“Nope, Corvo saw it for himself. Says this elf is pretty intimidating. Got white hair too. To go along with the tattoos.”

“And he’s this Herald of Andraste?”

Hawke didn’t hear the answer as his chair clattered back to its normal position. They’d heard about this Inquisition but he hadn’t paid much attention to it. As long as they stayed out of his way, he’d been more than happy to let the Chantry factions fight among themselves. But a white-haired tattooed elf? Could there be more than one?

He shifted and got the attention of the two men sitting at the next table. “What’s this about an elf?”

“Haven’t you heard?” the older of the two men said.

Hawke shook his head. “I’ve been out of touch for a while. Heard about the Inquisition but not this Herald. Who is he?”

“The Herald of Andraste,” the younger man said enthusiastically. “He was the only survivor of the explosion at the Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. They say he stepped out of one of those rifts that are all over the place and there was a glowing woman behind her. They say it was Andraste! He’s doing a lot of good work.” He gestured to a young man who was leaning against the bar. “You should go and speak to Corvo. He’s seen the Herald in person.”

Hawke raised a tankard to the man as he carefully kept his rising panic under control. “Thanks. I might do that.”

He got to his feet and wandered over to the bar, keeping a firm hold on the part of him that wanted to grab this Corvo person and demand answers.

“Corvo?” he said to the young man in question.

“Yup.”

“Name’s Garrett. Heard you’ve seen this Herald everyone’s talking about,” Hawke said casually. “I’ve been out the back of beyond for a while. Wouldn’t mind hearing more from the man everyone says has seen him in person.”

He gestured to the barkeep to bring them more beer and Corvo perked up and gave him a nod of thanks.

“Yah, I’ve seen this Herald of Andraste,” Corvo said, taking a drink after saluting Hawke with the tankard. “He’s an elf, would you believe? No idea where he’s from but he ain’t Dalish for all he’s got tattoos on his face. No Dalish I’ve ever seen has tattoos like that though. White ones.” He gestured to his chin. “Come down his chin and neck and they’re on his hands as well. Fights like a demon too. My caravan got caught out by bandits. Thought we were all gone for but the Herald and his companions came charging out of nowhere and saved us. He glows you know! Blimey but it gave my heart a start when I saw him flash white and then disappear. Hell of a thing.”

“Sounds impressive,” Hawke said as calmly as he could manage. Even without a name there was no denying this was Fenris the man was talking about but what was _Fenris_ doing in the middle of the Inquisition as the Herald of Andraste of all things? And what had he been doing at the Conclave? _What, in the Maker’s name, was going on_?

“Sure was,” Corvo continued. “He was travelling with an odd group. A woman. Warrior. She fought like a demon as well. And there was an elf mage and a dwarf with a crossbow too.”

Hawke had to control another start. A dwarf with a crossbow? _Varric_? “They’ve sorted things out in Redcliffe, they say?”

Corvo nodded. “Yah, yah, got rid of all those rebel mages from Redcliffe. There was some mage from Tevinter there from what I was told. They killed him and took the mages with ‘em when they left.”

“A Tevinter mage?” Hawke said with surprise. He could understand why Fenris might go after a Magister but to then apparently recruit the rebel mages? That didn’t sound like his grumpy elf. “What was a Tevinter mage doing in Redcliffe?”

“Tryin’ to get his hands on the rebel mages, I reckon,” Corvo replied. 

“What’s happened to the Templars?” Hawke asked. “I’ve heard they’ve been causing trouble too.”

Corvo nodded. “They all went to some place called… Therin something or other. Well, most of ‘em. Some were kicking up trouble in the Hinterlands until the Inquisition dealt with ‘em. As for the rest of ‘em, who knows? There’s a rumour going round that says they’ve all gone missing from that Therin place.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Yah,” Corvo said darkly. “But I reckon the Inquisition will take care of them too. They’ve got troops here, ya know. Little outpost just outside the village to the north. We’re on one of the main routes to this Haven place where they’re based so they keep a presence here. Right good it is too, knowing they’ve got their eye on us and can help us if we need it. With all these rifts and demons and bandits and everything around, there’s no point being too proud and not wanting the help. That just gets you dead.”

Hawke drained his tankard and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Thanks, Corvo. You sound like you were the man on the spot.”

Corvo saluted him cheerfully with his tankard and Hawke slipped out of the tavern and headed towards this Inquisition camp. It wasn’t difficult to find. They had tents pitched and banners set and there was a small group of soldiers milling around. As soon as they caught sight of him, one of the soldiers came forward.

“Can we help you, ser?”

Hawke hesitated for a moment. He’d intended to steer well clear of this Inquisition but if Fenris was involved… he needed to be there. He couldn’t leave Fenris to handle this all alone.

“I’m… I’m Hawke.”

The soldier’s eyes widened with surprise. “Ser Hawke! How may we be of assistance? Oh! We have a message for you, ser. From Serah Varric Tethras. Every Inquisition camp has a copy in the hopes we might find you, ser.”

Hawke chuckled at the wave of ‘sers’ from the soldier. “I’ll take the letter but I was hoping to get a message to Fenris.”

“Yes, ser! We’ll take it and send it on to the Herald if you have it, ser. Or we have paper and ink if you need it.”

“I’ll need to paper and ink actually.” He gave the soldier a curious look. “You call him the Herald of Andraste?”

“Yes, ser!” The soldier straightened and looked awed. “I wasn’t there, ser, but my friend was. Ser Fenris fell out of that great rift at the ruins of the Temple and there was this glowing woman behind him. And he’s been marked, ser. On his hand.” The soldier gestured towards his left hand. “He can close the rifts with it.”

“Right,” Hawke said. The soldier’s explanation only ratcheted up his anxiety and worry. “Let me have that letter from Varric.”

The soldier saluted. “Yes, ser! The paper and ink is over here.”

The soldier escorted Hawke to the table in question then returned a moment later with a letter. Hawke thanked him absently and opened the letter.

_Hawke,_

_I’m sending this letter through our normal channels as well as making sure every Inquisition camp has a copy. I know you. You won’t be able to keep away once you’ve heard the news._

_I’ll confirm it. It’s Broody. He’s the Herald of Andraste you’ve undoubtedly heard about. He ended up at the Conclave purely by chance. He says he was tracking some Magisters, ones who knew Danarius. We don’t know what happened after that. He doesn’t know either. He has no memory of it and I’m sure you’ll have a fair idea how he’s handling that._

_I’m looking after Broody as best as I can, Hawke, but everyone here is on his side, I can assure you of that. He’s not in any danger from anyone in the Inquisition. Honestly, if anyone tried anything, there’d be an onslaught of people defending him._

_That being said, I know what you’re doing is important but he’s struggling, Hawke. He’s doing his best and he’s learning pretty quickly but they’re pushing him into the position of a leader and he’s not coping with it all that well. I’m worried about him. I don’t know whether you can get away from what you’re doing but if you can, come. If you can’t, I was thinking of asking one of the others. Any suggestions? Other than Blondie. Let’s not mix oil and water._

_Varric Tethras_

Hawke read through the letter twice more, then tucked it into his armour and scrawled a note. He folded it and handed it to the soldier. 

“Get this to Varric please.”

The soldier saluted. “Of course, ser!”

Hawke got to his feet and hurried back to the tavern. The crowd was rowdier than before but Hawke ignored them and made his way up to the room he was sharing with Stroud. The Warden was there and he looked up with surprise when Hawke barged in, grabbed his pack and started throwing his belongings into it.

“Hawke! What is going on?”

“I have to go, Stroud,” Hawke said tersely.

“Go where?”

“Haven,” Hawke replied. “Where this Inquisition is.”

“Why?” The Warden frowned and got to his feet. “Hawke, what we are doing is more important than a rebel Chantry group.”

“It’s not more important than _Fenris_ ,” Hawke half-shouted. “He’s _there_ , Stroud. He’s this fucking Herald of Andraste everyone’s talking about and I left him behind because I thought he’d be _safe_ and he’s _not_!”

Stroud looked taken aback and then his expression hardened. “Hawke, I cannot do this alone. You know that.”

Hawke stopped and hung his head, a shirt hanging from his hand. He _did_ know that. Every Warden in Orlais and seemingly every one in Fereldan as well had orders to stop Stroud. To capture him and bring him back to Clarel. The only reason they’d been able to get as much done as they had was because Hawke was relatively unknown in Fereldan and Orlais, as long as he used a false name anyway.

“Stroud,” he said, his voice and face full of anguish. “I can’t…”

Hawke dropped the shirt and sat down heavily on the bed. He buried his face in his hands and wondered yet again why everyone always seemed to think he could solve all their problems. He couldn’t even solve his own with any great success, why people thought he’d be any better with theirs was beyond him.

Stroud was silent for a long time then he said, “Let me send for Carver. When he gets here, you can go. He wasn’t at any of the meetings. The Orlesian Wardens won’t know him if he doesn’t wear the armour. I know you want to keep him safe but… he’s a Grey Warden. We’re never safe.”

Hawke looked up. “But what about the other Wardens who were with you when we met you in the Deep Roads? Won’t they give him away?”

Stroud grimaced. “They died.”

Hawke shot a look at the Warden. From the look on the man’s face, he wasn’t going to get an answer if he asked how those Wardens had died. “Right.”

Stroud gave Hawke an expectant look. “Well?”

Hawke weighed up his brother against his lover and in the end, what decided him was the letter Carver had sent when he’d forwarded Stroud’s letter. Frustrated and annoyed that Hawke was being the over-protective big brother again. _I’m not a child anymore, brother. I’m a Grey Warden_ , Carver had written in the spiky messy handwriting that screamed his irritation louder than any words. Maybe it was time he accepted that he couldn’t always protect his brother?

“Alright,” he said, running a hand down his face. “Send for Carver.”

Stroud nodded. “I will do so.”

“And I’d better revise that note I was sending to Varric,” Hawke said, getting to his feet again. “I’m going to be delayed.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madame Vivienne delivers some home truths and some help.

A snarling ream of curses echoed through the small cabin as a screwed up piece of paper and a pen went flying across the room. Fenris shoved his chair back, uncaring when it toppled over, and started pacing back and forth, gesticulating wildly with his hands as the Tevene curses continued to fall from his mouth. He was so caught up in his frustration that didn’t hear the polite knock on the door and it was only when the door opened and Vivienne sailed in, that he stopped and whirled around, his markings flaring into life.

“Darling, you’ve managed to terrify the life out of everyone in earshot,” she said with thinly veiled amusement and absolutely no fear. It was the latter that made Fenris let his markings die down.

“Good,” he said sourly.

He was surprised when Vivienne laughed, a delicate and, as far as he could tell, entirely genuine sound. “Save your inducement of fear for more opportune moments, my dear.”

Before he could stop her, she bent over and picked up one of the many screwed up bits of paper on the ground, opened it and smoothed it out. She looked at it and Fenris turned his back on her, unable to stop the way his shoulders hunched in humiliation and his fists clenched in anger. He had been attempting to write the report Josephine had requested about what had happened in Redcliffe but he had been struggling to find the words, let alone put them down on paper. And now Madam De Fer was going to see his failure. He knew what his writing looked like – an uneven scrawl of blocky childish letters, misspelled words and poorly constructed sentences. To his eternal frustration, trying to put things into written words did not come easily. It made no sense to him when he knew he spoke well and Hawke had never been able to explain it.

However the mocking words he was expecting never came. Instead he heard Vivienne moving around behind him and when he turned around, she had gathered all of the screwed up bits of paper he’d discarded in a pile and when she saw he was looking, she set them on fire. They burned quickly and cleanly, leaving only a small pile of ash behind, which Vivienne quickly dismissed with another small flare of magic. Then, as he continued to watch in bewilderment, she righted his chair and sat down elegantly at his desk, pulling a fresh piece of paper towards her and readying a pen.

When she saw him staring at her in confusion, she tilted her head slightly. “It is no poor reflection on you that your late _master_ …” And the amount of disdain and disgust and contempt she managed to put in that one word was remarkable. “…kept you illiterate. It is a common tactic among those who seek power. An illiterate slave finds it difficult to muster the resources for an effective rebellion.” She smiled slightly. “I had wondered what was causing Josephine to fret so, for I can assure you she did not tell me anything.” She paused and arched an eyebrow at him. “And nor shall I.”

She raised the pen over the paper and gave him an expectant look. “Shall we?”

For a moment Fenris just stared at her, his emotions roiling within him. He almost threw her out but… as far as he could tell she was completely genuine in wishing to help him by playing scribe and she was offering nothing in the way of pity. So, he slowly, hesitantly began to describe what had happened in Redcliffe. Vivienne halted him often, asking questions that drew out further details or clarified what he had said. She did not attempt to rephrase anything, copying down his blunt sentences and descriptions verbatim. She even chuckled a few times at his acerbic assessments of both the Venatori and the rebel mages.

It was only when they had finished and she was blotting the last of the ink that she broached the subject that had led to her current position.

“You have clearly been taught the fundamentals of both reading and writing, my dear, and quite well too. Has the instruction not continued?”

Fenris scowled. “Hawke taught me. After the explosion in Kirkwall, we have had little time to continue.”

“Ah, of course, that has been a terrible disruption in many people’s lives.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I would be willing to continue the education, though admittedly you really need do little more than continue practising. There are some techniques you could find useful however.”

“Why?” Fenris snapped. “So you can lord it over me?”

Vivienne sighed. “Darling, you are far too intelligent for such suspicion. You are our leader thus it is vitally important that we minimise as many of your weaknesses as possible. A somewhat blunt explanation, I know, but you do seem to favour the blunt.”

Again there was no pity in Vivienne’s words or manner. In fact, if anything, there was sheer pragmatism. Fenris would never have accepted pity but pragmatism was something he could understand.

He frowned. “I am not the leader.”

“Not yet,” Vivienne replied. “But you will be. You must see that. Josephine and the others are hardly subtle about it, though they are trying to be kind.”

Fenris shook his head, backing away from her. “No. I am not a leader. I never have been.”

“No one is born a leader,” Vivienne said with a sympathetic smile. “It’s something you learn. Usually on the job.” The last was said very dryly.

Fenris shook his head again and Vivienne sighed.

“Darling, it will happen whether you like it or not. In truth, you’ve already been leading us in many ways. It was _you_ who made the decisions in Redcliffe. Not Cassandra or anyone else.”

“Leliana and Josephine weren’t happy with it,” Fenris said with a snort.

“Of course not,” Vivienne replied. “They have entirely too much sympathy with the rebels. Very soft-hearted of them but rather foolish in the long run. Fiona and her malcontents did not need to be handled with kid gloves. Your decision was entirely justified. If they were trying to prove that mages can handle unfettered freedom, they failed utterly.”

“Isn’t that hypocritical when you aren’t confined to the Circle?” Fenris asked, more curious than anything else.

“Of course not,” Vivienne replied calmly. “I have a measure of freedom, it is true, but it is a freedom I have _earned_. I have proven myself capable of handling the duties and responsibilities that freedom entails for a mage. For we are dangerous, my dear, only a fool would deny that, certainly far more dangerous than a warrior. Take away a warrior’s sword and shield and he is left with only a rudimentary ability to do harm but a mage is always in possession of her magic.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You, of course, possess slightly more in the way of weapons than the average warrior but my point still stands.”

“So you would re-establish the Circles?”

“Of course, darling,” Vivienne said. “Where else are young mages to learn how to control their magic? Of course, if I were to have my way, I would make some small changes.”

“Such as?” Fenris found he was genuinely curious. Vivienne’s pragmatism was ruthless.

“I would restructure the Templars for a start,” Vivienne said, warming to her subject. “Their current structure gives them far too much power. It is a recipe for disaster as Kirkwall proved so amply. One must have Templars within the Circle, of course. Any mage who has lost control of their spell or anyone who has seen a Harrowing go badly will attest to that but the rules under which they can act and what they can and can’t do must be changed.”

“And the mages?”

“I believe a little more freedom is warranted,” Vivienne said. “ _If_ they prove they can handle it. There are many ways in which the mages can assist the people of Thedas. Healing clinics, working for nobles and even the Crown. Of course, rules would need to be put in place to ensure we are not used as cannon fodder or in petty disputes. Only for the good of the people of Thedas. It is what was intended, darling. Magic is meant to serve mankind, not rule over it.”

Fenris eyed her with a new level of respect. “I have never heard a mage say things like that.”

Vivienne snorted delicately. “Most mages are dreadfully myopic. Partly a product of the existing Circles but mostly selfishness, my dear. They think only of what _they_ want and not what it might mean in the larger scheme of things.” She gave him a look that said louder than words that _she_ never forgot that larger scheme. “You knew the apostate Anders, darling. How much good do you think his actions actually achieved? Far more mages have died since the explosion than before and mages are treated with more fear and mistrust than in decades, perhaps even centuries. Admittedly he can’t be held at fault for Fiona’s deplorable actions but he must take his share of the blame for the current state of affairs.”

“I do not care for the man but even I would not blame him for this Elder One,” Fenris said.

“I would,” Vivienne replied. “Oh, not directly but the chaos he instigated was undoubtedly taken advantage of by the Elder One. Look at what happened at the Conclave. Look at Magister Alexius. He used the chaos for his own advantage and he served the Elder One, did he not? What other pieces did the Elder One set in play when we were all distracted?”

Fenris frowned and paced back and forth. Vivienne was echoing thoughts he’d had himself. Not about Anders but about the chaos being used to hide other things. With all the Tevinter slavers moving through the Free Marches and other places, it was easy enough for the Venatori to just blend in with them. While _he’d_ been able to tell the difference between slavers and the magisters he’d followed to the Conclave, most people in the south probably wouldn’t be able to do the same. And he couldn’t help but think that the matter Hawke and Stroud were investigating was involved as well, especially after Leliana had told him the Wardens had all gone missing, all but Blackwall.

“You do provide us with something of an advantage as a leader,” Vivienne observed, breaking into his thoughts. “With Tevinter being involved somehow, it is decidedly useful to have someone we can trust who knows the society.”

Fenris snorted. “I was a slave. I was not part of the society.”

“Nonsense.” Vivienne held up a hand in apology when Fenris glared at her. “Slave or not, you were a part of the society. You observed it rather than participating in it and that is often far more valuable.”

“You would be better off seeking insight from Dorian than me,” he growled.

“Dorian has yet to prove he can be trusted,” Vivienne replied briskly. “And he was born into that society. You will have seen things he cannot.”

“Danarius…” He snarled and rolled his shoulders, trying to rid himself of the rage that always surfaced when his former master came up. “Danarius was a social climber.”

“That you recognise that tells me that you observed very well.” Vivienne paused for a moment then continued delicately, “I do not mean to minimise or dismiss what you have been through but you must learn to control your reactions to your late master.”

Fenris’ glare was sulphurous but Vivienne did not quail before it. He was beginning to suspect the woman would stand tall and unbowed even if faced with the Elder One.

“You will have to deal with Orlais, my dear,” Vivienne said, her tone becoming a fraction harder and blunter. “And the Orlesians will eat you alive if you react so sharply to things. They will see your reaction to Danarius’ name as a weakness and seek to exploit it in any way they can.”

Fenris started pacing again. He knew enough about Orlais to know that Vivienne was right and he hated that. More because he still had such visceral reactions to Danarius than because the Orlesians would take advantage of it. Why could he not get the man’s claws out of his skin even after all this time?

“And what would you suggest?” he asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“You do not have to stop feeling what you do,” Vivienne said, her tone now taking on a gentleness that was unexpected and yet, when he looked over at her, seemed entirely genuine. “Your anger, your bitterness is entirely understandable and valid. However, you must learn to not let it show. Orlesians wear masks for a reason, darling, and not all those masks are physical, tangible things. If they believe there is a chink in your armour, they will attack it mercilessly. You represent not only yourself but the Inquisition. An attack on you is an attack on us all.”

Fenris came to a halt and his shoulders slumped. “I do not know how to do that.”

“Of course not, darling,” Vivienne said with a small smile. “It’s something you will learn. I can teach you.”

Frustration welled up in him again and he resumed his pacing. “When do I have _time_?” he snarled. He waved a hand towards the sheaf of papers on his desk. “I have all of that to read and learn and now this?”

Vivienne picked up the topmost sheet and laughed after she’d read. “Oh, not to worry, darling. This is something I can help with as well. I know everyone who is everyone in the Orlesian court.” She put the piece of paper down and arched an eyebrow at him. “The question is will you take up my offer?”

“Do I have a choice?”

He got the impression Vivienne wanted to roll her eyes at him but considered the action too gauche and thus beneath her.

“Of course you do. You could decline and make a mess of things or you can accept and excel.”

Fenris stopped again and looked at the mage curiously. “You believe I will succeed?”

“You’re not a fool, Fenris,” she said firmly. “Your past left you illiterate and uneducated through no fault of your own and only an imbecile would look down on you or mock you for that. You are not an idiot or an oaf. You have come a long way in correcting the illiteracy, courtesy of Hawke and your own determination, and education is simply a matter of having willing teachers, which is what I am.” 

She gave him a shrewd look, full of sly amusement. “You speak too well, too eloquently to be an ignoramus, Fenris. I imagine you learned a great deal listening in on the conversations between Danarius and his cronies, all while they thought you little more than a piece of furniture or a mere pet. Your memory recall must be remarkable.”

Fenris couldn’t help the smirk that curled his lips. Hawke knew about it, of course. He could hardly have avoided knowing given Fenris enjoyed quoting classical literature, both Tevinter and otherwise, at him. Danarius had many, many faults but he had enjoyed his literature and had often hosted readings and small plays. Fenris had usually been in attendance in some capacity and had found a liking for such things as well, little though he’d liked sharing something in common with his master. 

Now, every time he quoted some play or poem or book, Hawke would turn these wide eyes on him, full of surprise and delight and lust. It hadn’t taken him long to realise that Hawke found any display of intelligence and sophistication from him to be very alluring. He’d been suspicious of it at first until he’d realised that what Hawke _really_ enjoyed was Fenris being willing to share with him parts of himself he normally kept hidden. Hawke would never ask for it, would never ask for more than Fenris was willing to give, and thus being _allowed_ those insights usually ended in some sort of display of affection, the level of it depending on whether they were in public or private.

Vivienne chuckled at the expression on his face. “I am right, am I not?”

“You may be,” Fenris conceded.

“Then you will have little trouble learning how to play the Game, my dear,” Vivienne said with delight. “In fact, if you can control your impatience and your anger, you may well turn out to be a master.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Fenris said dryly.

“It is.” Vivienne fixed him with a sharp look. “You cannot simply bull your way through Orlais. It is too monumental for that. The only way to succeed there is to play their Game. You don’t have to like it, you simply have to win.”

Fenris suddenly realised that sentence summed up Vivienne. She would never admit to personal likes or dislikes, in fact, she kept herself as private as Fenris did in many ways. Vivienne was pragmatic and practical to a truly _ruthless_ level. She looked at every situation and determined how she could achieve what she wanted and that was what she did. Her likes and dislikes had nothing to do with it. She was a survivor and a success in a world that wanted nothing more than to lock her up at best or make her Tranquil or kill her at worst. She had rank and status and wealth. She moved among the highest of echelons with ease and grace and her words had weight. She could influence policy and laws. 

In short, if Anders had ever cultivated someone like her and convinced them of the need for more freedoms for mages or if he’d even become like her himself, he could have done more good for mages than he ever could bombing Chantrys. He also finally understood why Hawke had accepted the title of Champion, albeit reluctantly. The title protected him and it gave his words weight with people who would likely not have heeded him without it.

He also realised that was why Vivienne had wanted to join the Inquisition and why she was making this offer to him. She saw them as the winning side. While the Chantry, Orlais and Fereldan were consumed by internal issues, the Inquisition was acting and gaining power. By helping him, she helped consolidate and increase that power and thus gained advantages for herself. 

“You think they will name me as the leader of the Inquisition officially?” he said slowly.

“As soon as they can, yes,” Vivienne replied. “Right now, I believe they think you would run a mile but it is inevitable, darling. You _are_ our leader. The people look to the Herald of Andraste, to Shartan reborn, not to Cassandra or Leliana or Cullen. They are skilled individuals, excellent at their jobs and invaluable to the Inquisition, but leadership is not entirely about skill. It is about something far more intangible. It is about hope and that is what you provide the people.”

“How?” Fenris said with a frown. “I don’t understand.”

“You survived, my dear,” Vivienne replied, that softness in her voice again. “Where all others died, you survived and apparently with Andraste’s blessing. You and only you can close the rifts and the Breach. And yet, you are a man, an elf, a former slave. You have been the lowest of the low. You were once one of them and now you stand as the leader of the Inquisition in all but name. People like their leaders to be inspirational but they also like them to be within reach as well. You are all of that.”

Fenris growled under his breath in frustration. “But none of that was within my control.”

“That is the point, darling.” Vivienne raised an eyebrow at him. “All of this has been thrust upon you and yet you stand tall and you handle it with apparent aplomb. The people see that. They see an elf, a former slave no less, standing tall through all the trouble and they start to believe that they can do so as well.”

Fenris stared at the floor as he thought about all of that. The concepts of perception and artifice weren’t foreign ones. Tevinter was built on such things but as a slave, he’d had no real part in it except as an outsider looking in.

“I can’t control any of that, can I?” he said with an irritated sigh.

“No and you’d go mad trying to,” Vivienne replied. “Josephine will control the message the Inquisition wishes to send and that is the best that can be done. Thankfully she is rather skilled at that.”

“And if I fail?” Fenris asked. 

“Let’s try and avoid that,” Vivienne said dryly. She picked up the sheaf of papers and held them up. “Shall we start?”

Fenris stared down at the floor again and finally let himself accept the fact that he was a part of the Inquisition and that his decisions would be the ones that held weight. It terrified him but he had seen Hawke do this and like Hawke, he had people willing to help him. He raised his head and nodded to the First Enchanter.

“Very well.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris decides he needs to learn how to get along with Dorian. After a very shaky start, they forge the beginnings of a path towards friendship.
> 
> I'm going to put a warning right here in the summary that there are discussions of slavery and its implications in this chapter, including a conversation between Dorian and Fenris involving one of its more unpleasant aspects. It's not a long conversation but there are implications within it involving dub-con and non-con regarding Fenris and other slaves, based on things that are within the canon and things that David Gaider has said about Fenris and Danarius. Basically, Dorian discovers he _really_ needs to check his privilege after Fenris throws a few very ugly truths in his face. Thankfully, Dorian is not a butthead so he gets the beginning of some much needed personal growth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also expanded the party a bit here. There are all those conversation where companions talk about things that happened even if they weren't in the party (Bull and killing dragons comes to mind immediately) so I'm sort of going to handwave that occasionally larger parties are taken out for various things. So this likely will happen again in the future.

Fenris began to regret bringing Dorian along almost from the moment they set foot outside of Haven and by the time they got to the Storm Coast he was honestly surprised he hadn’t stuck his hand through the mage’s chest. Dorian set Fenris’ teeth on edge simply by existing, which in some of his more mellow moments he would admit had nothing to do with the mage personally and more to do with his own issues. Dorian couldn’t help the way he’d been raised nor could he help the fact that he came from a very high-ranking family and thus many of his mannerisms and behaviours were ingrained and done without conscious thought. In general Dorian was about as far from Danarius as it was possible to get but every now and then he did something or said something that set Fenris’ nerves jangling and, what was worse, made old servile habits start to raise their ugly heads. Which did absolutely _nothing_ for Fenris’ mood.

He could almost feel Varric’s concerned gaze on his back as he lead their little group towards the area marked on the map as a potential camp. It was early to be making camp but he needed the excuse to be able to stop and put some distance between himself and Dorian. 

“Been a while since I’ve been here,” Blackwall rumbled from beside him and Fenris gave a start as he was dragged out of his thoughts. Blackwall made no indication he’d seen his reaction.

“Was it as wet then as it is now?” Fenris asked sourly. He spared a glance backwards to ensure Varric, Dorian and Solas were following them. He’d chosen to bring a slightly larger group out this time. Blackwall because of the rumours of Wardens on the Storm Coast, Dorian to get a feel for whether he could possibly work with the man and Varric and Solas because he needed people he felt comfortable with to offset the others.

“Aye, that it was,” Blackwall replied with a chuckle. “Damn rain never seemed to stop.”

Fenris felt oddly comfortable with the burly Warden. He wasn’t sure whether it was the man’s superficial resemblance to Hawke or the fact that Blackwall did not ask personal questions but there was something about the man that was a balm to his jangled nerves.

“Wonderful.” He glanced over at Blackwall. “Why were you here?”

He’d returned to looking in the direction they were going and didn’t see the discomfort that passed over the other man’s face.

“Investigating rumours,” Blackwall replied. “Warden business.”

Fenris nodded and let the subject drop. He knew enough about Grey Wardens to know that Blackwall wouldn’t tell him more if he asked. They had also arrived at the potential camp and he turned his attention to setting things up and sending a message back to the main camp. Once the Inquisition soldiers arrived, he walked away and went down to stand by the edge of the ocean.

“Everything alright, Broody?”

Fenris looked over at Varric then grimaced and shook his head. “No.”

“He’s not Danarius, you know?”

Fenris sighed. He should have known Varric wouldn’t leave this alone and that he would hit the nail directly on the head. “I know.”

“But he’s setting you right on the edge of ripping his heart out anyway.”

Fenris was silent as he stared out at the ocean. He rolled his shoulders as he tried to find the words to explain.

“He is of the same social level,” he said finally. “Not exactly but enough.”

“Ah,” Varric said with understanding. “I don’t think he’s doing whatever he’s doing consciously.”

“He isn’t,” Fenris growled. “It is… he has grown up with it. It is…” He broke off with a snarl, unable to articulate what he meant.

“Yeah,” Varric said. He sighed. “Is there anything I can do?”

Fenris shook his head. Varric nodded and started to walk back to the camp. He paused after a few steps and turned back. “Want me to send him over?”

Fenris went utterly still for a moment then shrugged. “Will you listen if I say no?”

“Of course I will, Broody. I just think… well, get to know him. Sparkler’s really not that bad.”

Varric walked back to the camp and sat down next to Dorian. The mage raised an eyebrow at him and smiled slightly.

“So, is our illustrious leader thinking of new ways to kill me?”

“Eh, Broody likes the tried and true,” Varric replied. “He’s old-fashioned like that. You should go talk to him.”

“So he can kill me right here and now? Thanks, Varric, but I’d prefer to delay that moment as long as possible.”

Varric gave him a look. “Sparkler, the best thing you can do right now is convince him you are nothing like Danarius. He was that man’s slave for years and let me tell you, it wasn’t fun. You’re making him crawl out of his skin because he doesn’t know if you’re going to turn around and try and enslave him tomorrow. He is used to being treated like shit by Tevinter mages. He is used to being treated like a commodity. Convince him you’re not like that or one day he _is_ going to shove his hand through your chest and none of us are going to be able to stop him.”

Dorian looked rather discomforted. He cleared his throat and stood up. “Well, that was a rather compelling argument. Very well. Off I go. Though if he does shove his hand through my heart right now, I shall be very upset with you, Varric.”

Fenris heard the person approaching and tensed. He knew it had to be Dorian. Varric couldn’t help meddling and for once he wasn’t sure if he welcomed the dwarf’s meddling or not. Often he had, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud. There were times he would never have done things he wanted or needed if not for Varric’s meddling but in this case… he just didn’t know.

“Varric has some truly remarkable skills at nagging.”

Fenris snorted and flicked a glance at the mage who was now standing beside him. He resisted the urge to hunch his shoulders or take a step backwards into a slave’s traditional position.

“He’s like that.”

“Yes, well, I’m not exactly sure what he wants me to do,” Dorian admitted nervously. “I can tell you I’m nothing like Danarius until I’m blue in the face and, apart from looking terrible because blue isn’t my colour, you have no reason to believe me.”

“Why were you there that day?”

Dorian blinked then cleared his throat. Fenris was surprised to see the man looking rather awkward.

“I was… my father was keeping an eye on me,” Dorian admitted. “I’d been expelled from another Circle and he was… displeased. Rather than let me wallow at home or get in more trouble, he was dragging me around with him to various meetings and appointments.”

“Why did you get expelled?” 

Fenris didn’t much care about the answer but it was something he would never have been allowed to ask in Tevinter. It was the sort of questioning that would never have been tolerated by a Magister or even a Magister’s son. The question was an act of defiance for himself and test for Dorian.

As such, he was surprised to see Dorian suddenly look very abashed.

“I, er…” Dorian licked his lips and stared out at the ocean. He abruptly looked rather green and turned away, still standing beside Fenris but turning his back to the water. He glanced over at the elf then sighed. “Well, I suppose you’ll understand without extensive explanation.” He shifted nervously and smoothed his robes. “I… was caught with another young man. In… in flagrante delicto, as they might say.”

Fenris looked over at the mage with surprise. Dorian was staring straight ahead though there was a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks. “Another mage? Not a slave?”

Dorian’s eyes widened and he looked at Fenris. “No! I mean, yes, another mage. Not a slave.” He looked away, an expression of shame flickering over his face. “I stopped doing that. Using slaves. It was… taking advantage.”

 _Now_ Fenris would admit to being curious. Very few of Dorian’s social level would ever consider using one of their slaves as a bed partner as ‘taking advantage’. Danarius certainly hadn’t. If Dorian’s partner had been a slave, no one would have cared that said partner was male. He would have gotten a slap on the wrist, a scolding and been told to be more discreet. But another mage? Presumably from an equally highly ranked family? The expulsion had probably been the alternative to scandal. No wonder Dorian’s father had been furious.

“Hawke is my lover,” he said neutrally.

“Yes, but you’re…” Dorian said then he broke off with a look of horror and ducked his head, tension tightening his shoulders.

 _Yes, but you’re a slave_. That was what Dorian had been going to say so thoughtlessly and now he looked like he was waiting for Fenris to rip his heart out.

“Is that what you think of me?” Fenris’ voice was chilly.

“No!” Dorian said hurriedly. “But you’ve never had anyone telling you you’re _wrong_ for wanting to be with a man.”

“No,” Fenris snarled. “I was just given no choice.”

Dorian turned wide, shocked eyes on him then he went pale. “I…”

“What did you think being a slave _meant_?” Fenris snapped. “Did you think we could ever say _no_?”

Dorian actually went up a little in Fenris’ estimation when he had the good sense to keep his mouth _shut_ at this point. Fenris stared out over the water as he wrestled his temper back under control. He knew Dorian had been brought up this way but if he’d had the ability to see past so much else of what he’d been brought up with, this should have been part of it as well.

“Did I ever mention that I’m a complete ass?” Dorian said quietly, barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Fenris snorted. “I am coming to that conclusion.” He shot a look at the other man. “If you want to change things, you should change everything.”

Dorian looked troubled. “I… you’re right.”

They stood there for a few awkward moments then Fenris turned and walked back to the camp. Dorian followed a few minutes later and the rest of the evening was spent in relative, if somewhat awkward and tense, silence.

The next morning, they continued on. Varric tired of the continued silence first and started telling a tall tale Fenris had heard at least three times. The others seemed to enjoy it though and in the wake of that story, Blackwall told a humorous and slightly bawdy tale about a man he claimed to have known. Solas then surprised them all by telling them of the night he ended up talking to the world’s most boring spirit of wisdom, who knew everything there was to know about _toast_ but not much about anything else.

“Oh, come on, Chuckles,” Varric said when he finished. “You have got to be shitting us with that one.” He held up one hand before Solas could reply and laughed. “Wait. Broke my own rule. If the response is ‘you’re shitting me!’ then it must be true.”

“The spirit was very wise,” Solas said with a wry smile curving his lips just a little. “Just not about much that was important.”

“I don’t know,” Blackwall replied with a grin. “A good piece of toast in the morning can set up your whole day. On the other hand, feed a platoon of men burnt and cold toast and they’ll be grumbling and bitching at each other until you make camp that night.”

“That is true,” Solas replied, now looking openly amused. “Perhaps the spirit was wiser than I thought.”

Fenris smiled a little, remembering some truly horrific attempts at cooking from Hawke on their various travels. Hawke had many skills, unfortunately anything more than a sandwich was beyond him and even the sandwiches tended to fall apart too easily.

“A pity Hawke has not run into that spirit,” he said quietly.

Varric roared with laughter. “You mean he still can’t even manage toast? I thought he’d have improved at least a little.”

“Sometimes,” Fenris said dryly. “If I am very lucky. Unfortunately he feels guilty if he does not take on his share of the camp duties and he is often awake before I am.”

Sleeping in was one of the few luxuries that Fenris had truly embraced. The joy of sleeping in until _he_ wished to rise was something that few people who had not been slaves could ever really understand. Hawke always laughed and let him go back to sleep and when he could, Fenris always rewarded him for that forbearance.

“So burnt toast for breakfast?” Blackwall said, still grinning.

“Sometimes he even manages to burn some parts and leave others entirely uncooked,” Fenris replied.

“Now that _is_ skill,” Blackwall said giving a rumble of laughter. “Not sure what _kind_ of skill but it’s a skill.”

Fenris couldn’t help but notice that Dorian had been quiet through not only Varric, Blackwall and Solas’ tales but had also failed to contribute anything to the subsequent conversation. An unusual turn of events given the man seemed to have a quip for any situation. When he glanced over his shoulder at the mage, Dorian was certainly paying attention, smiling absently at things that were said and very much aware of his surroundings but the rest of him was deep in thought. Fenris was inclined to let him work through whatever was going on in his head, especially if it related to what they’d talked about the previous day. In his own way, Dorian had as much to unlearn as Fenris had once had to do… and still did to this day. Habits of a lifetime were not easily erased.

It was close to midday when they arrived at a cave where the scouts had indicated there was a rift. Fenris ignored Varric’s grumbling about caves and lead them in. Not long afterwards both he and Varric had a few pithy things to say about giant spiders, having encountered more than enough of them on the Sword Coast and various other places around Kirkwall, and they moved on.

The rift was at the back of the cave and it almost immediately turned into a tricky fight. The ground was uneven and the demons that spewed out of the rift consisted of wisps and a despair demon, all mobile and agile. The wisps were at least easily despatched once in range but the despair demon that flew out of the rift in the second wave proved far trickier and soon both he and Blackwall were cursing as it constantly flew away just as they closed in.

“Kaffas,” Fenris spat as the despair demon whipped over his head in a wave of cold then his awareness of the battlefield told him precisely where that demon was heading.

He whipped around and saw the demon had landed almost directly beside Dorian. The mage was holding his own though and Fenris was reminded of their first meeting when Dorian had beaten a demon to death with his staff. He leapt down off the column of rocks he’d climbed up on to reach the demon and sprinted as best as he could towards Dorian and the demon. Before he could get there, a spike of ice rose out of the ground and tossed Dorian aside. The mage landed heavily on his back and lay there, momentarily stunned. The demon screeched and headed straight for him.

“You shall _not_!” Fenris bellowed. He darted over to Dorian and crouched down for a moment, one hand resting on the mage’s shoulder. “Stay still.”

Then, with a shout, he rose to his feet and flashed into his ghost state. A heartbeat later, he became visible as he shouted and the dark energy within his brands pulsed out, lashing the despair demon with spirit and elemental magic. The demon screeched once then slumped, stunned, whereupon it promptly exploded into flames. Fenris looked down to see Dorian lying on the ground with one hand outstretched, flames licking around his fingers momentarily before dying down.

Fenris turned and raised his left hand, giving the little twitch that activated the mark on his palm. The mark connected with the rift and a gut-wrenching moment later, the rift closed, leaving them in the stunned silence that so often reigned after a battle. 

Fenris flexed his hand as the mark thrummed uncomfortably then turned back to Dorian. He said nothing but offered the mage his unmarked hand. It wasn’t done with the servile attitude of a slave assisting his master but with the calm confidence of someone assisting a comrade. He could see that understanding flicker over Dorian’s face and the way the man seemed far more comforted by being helped by the comrade than the slave. The mage took his hand with a small smile and for the first time since they’d walked out of the gates of Haven, Fenris relaxed in Dorian’s company. 

“Ugh,” Dorian said when he was on his feet again. He brushed down his robes with a hint of distaste. “Don’t these demons know I only have the one set of robes?”

“You, Sparkler?” Varric looked amused. “ _You_ only have one set of robes?”

“Work robes, yes,” Dorian replied. “I left home in something of a hurry, Varric. I didn’t have time to pack.”

Fenris left Varric and Dorian to their banter and looked around the area where the fight had been. There was another of those grim oculara and he headed for that. 

He’d heard a rumour that Harritt had refused to do any work for ’the Tevinter spy’ and he resolved to have a word with the smith when they got back. No doubt Fenris’ own attitude hadn’t helped matters. People did take their lead from him and he had been notably distrustful around Dorian. Harritt had probably felt comfortable in his rudeness, thinking it would be accepted. It would not be anymore.

“How many?” Blackwall asked as Fenris looked through the oculara.

“Three,” he said and when he straightened up again, the others were standing below waiting for him. “One up there.” He gestured towards his right. “The other two are back towards the entrance.”

Now that the oculara had revealed it, he could see the gleam of the shard not too far away. He had no idea what the bizarre things were for – Josephine was still looking into that – but if the Venatori wanted them, Fenris felt almost obligated to deny them the shards.

“What next?” Varric asked. He seemed to notice the air in the group had changed to something less fraught with tension and far more companionable and he gave Fenris a small private grin.

Fenris returned it with a nod before he spoke. “Let’s find the last of those Warden camps and get out of here. I’m tired of being wet.”

“Here, here,” Dorian muttered sourly then he laughed when Blackwall clapped him on the back. 

As they made their way back towards the entrance of the cave, Fenris began to think he might actually have chosen wisely with his new companions.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke travels to the Inquisition, Haven falls, Hawke discovers mages and Templars can work together (and flirt!) and he meets the new Inquisitor.
> 
> This is kind of part 1 since the next chapter carries on directly from this one. It's why I held it back until I finished the next chapter. This chapter is very Hawke-centric for obvious reasons.

Hawke couldn’t stop pacing. Given that they were avoiding as much contact with people as possible, it was really the only way he had of bleeding off his tension and stress. He would have much preferred the solid practicality of a fight but Stroud wanted to avoid drawing any attention to them. As such, the Warden hadn’t said a word about Hawke’s pacing, merely tolerated it and on occasion given Hawke an understanding squeeze of the shoulder.

“Someone’s coming,” Stroud said, breaking Hawke out of his thoughts.

He reached for his staff but the sound of a very familiar voice cursing made him relax and laugh softly. A moment later, Carver stepped out of the trees and into the clearing where their campsite was.

“Thank the Maker,” Hawke said before striding over and grabbing his brother, pulling him into a tight hug. Carver flailed momentarily then returned the hug awkwardly, a confused look on his face. It wasn’t that his brother had never hugged him before but usually they got in a few barbs before that happened.

Hawke abruptly let him go then headed straight for the tent. Carver rolled his eyes. “Hey, Carver, how are you? Gee, I’m fine, brother.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hawke said, emerging with his pack and grabbing his staff. “We can have twice the usual argument next time.”

Carver frowned and caught his brother’s arm. “Wait. What’s going on? Stroud’s letter just said to come immediately and now you’re running off?”

Hawke drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, reminding himself that Carver wasn’t his irritating little brother anymore. He was a Grey Warden. Stroud was watching them from beside the fire, looking faintly amused and seemingly determined to stay out of any sibling quarrels.

“You haven’t heard about the Inquisition?”

Carver shook his head. “A bit but not in any depth. Stroud’s letter said to stay off the roads and out of the villages so I haven’t really been talking to anyone. I’ve seen troops wearing uniforms I don’t recognise. I presume that’s them?”

Hawke nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “Short version. The Inquisition is some group that’s set itself up in opposition to the Chantry with the plan of fixing that hole in the sky. I don’t know the details. All I know is that Fenris is this Herald of Andraste that’s involved with them. Leading them more or less from what I’ve heard recently.”

“Fenris?” Carver said, looking shocked. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Hawke replied, a fine tremor of anxiety in his voice. “I haven’t been able to get much in the way of details, even from Varric. Apparently Fenris chased some Magisters to the Temple of Sacred Ashes and then there was an explosion. Fenris walked out of the Fade through that huge rift at the Temple and there was a woman they say was Andraste behind him. He’s got this mark on his hand that lets him close the rifts.”

“Andraste’s tits,” Carver said then he frowned. “Varric? How’s he involved?”

“He got dragged there by the Seeker of Truth who came to Kirkwall to investigate what happened.” Hawke grimaced. “Thank the Maker he did.”

Carver nodded. “Yeah. Fenris probably appreciated that.” He looked at his brother shrewdly. “So you’re going to this Inquisition?”

“I can’t leave him there alone, Carver.”

Carver rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying you should. Just making sure I know where you are. My life is a lot less stressful if I know where you are.”

Hawke managed a small smile and gripped his brother’s shoulder. “I should hit you for that.”

“Yeah, sure, puny mage,” Carver said with half a smile in return. “Go on. Stroud and I can handle this.”

“Just be careful. Something very odd is happening with the Wardens here.”

“I’ll be fine,” Carver said dryly. “I’m a big boy now, brother. Tell Fenris I said hello.”

Hawke nodded to him then looked over at Stroud.

“Go,” the Warden said with an indulgent smile.

Hawke turned and strode away. As he did a snippet of conversation floated over to him.

“You didn’t tell him?” Carver was asking.

“He didn’t need to know,” came Stroud’s calm reply. “It is Warden business.”

Normally Hawke would have marched back to demand answers but his mind was full of Fenris so he let the mystery drop.

Without the need to stay hidden, he made good time on the roads. He rarely got a second glance, especially as he didn’t use his name or if he did, he stuck with Garrett. People knew who _Hawke_ was. _Garrett_ was just another apostate mage looking for a safe place after the fall of the Circles. He didn’t feel the need to disabuse anyone of their assumptions about him.

He passed Inquisition troops several times but he didn’t approach them this time. He didn’t want to be slowed down or caught up in whatever they were doing. His resistance to pleas for help had never been good so, as much as he got the occasional pang of guilt for walking by instead of helping, he didn’t stop. He wanted… _needed_ … to get to Fenris. Even the odd sight of a mage in Inquisition colours clearly flirting with a Templar – who was flirting back just as much – wearing an odd amalgamation of Templar and Inquisition armour couldn’t get him to slow down. Varric would kill him later, he knew, for not stopping and getting _that_ story but he could deal with that.

It was only when he reached the last Inquisition camp in the Hinterlands that he actually stopped. His map was old and he wanted to confirm that the path to Haven on it was actually still accurate. He knew the Hero of Fereldan had come through this area back during the Blight and that there had been all sorts of shenanigans going on so there was a possibility that things had changed.

He was greeted politely when he identified himself and there were enough significant looks exchanged by the Inquisition soldiers to let him know that they did have orders regarding him but because he was actually heading towards Haven, he’d kind of circumvented them.

“Alright,” he said with wry humour once he’d checked his map against their. “What did they want you to do about me?”

The soldier he’d been speaking to, a rather awestruck young Lieutenant called Tomas who was in charge of the camp, shifted awkwardly. “Erm, they’re not… official orders, ser.”

Hawke blinked then laughed. “Varric?”

Tomas nodded. “Yes, ser. Sort of. He wanted us to let him know if you turned up and tell him if you were planning on doing anything other than going to Haven.”

Hawke rolled his eyes with a grin and was about to answer when a ruffled and frightened raven swooped down and all but fell into the arms of one of the soldiers, a scrap of paper tied to its leg. The soldier removed the message and brought it over to Tomas. He read it quickly and he went very pale.

“What is it?” Hawke demanded.

Tomas swallowed and shot him a look before calling in the others. “Message from the Commander. Haven under attack. Stay in your position. Await further orders.” He looked up at the others. “No other information.”

There was a moment of silence and Hawke was expecting an outbreak of questions. They never came. Instead the soldiers fell back into their duties, though there was an air of tension and fear that had been absent before. Hawke was surprised but it spoke well of the discipline of the Inquisition. He quickly folded his map and leaned down to pick up his pack but before he could, Tomas stopped him.

“You have to stay here, ser.”

Hawke glared at him. “The hell I do. Haven’s under attack!”

Tomas swallowed and gave him a bleak look that spoke louder than words about Haven’s chances. “I know, ser, but there’s nothing we can do. Nothing even _you_ can do. It’s still a three day journey to Haven on foot. Maybe one and a half on horseback. By the time you got there, it’d all be over. One way or another.”

Hawke stared at him for a moment then sagged where he stood, catching himself on the table with both hands. He stared down at the map and other papers on the table and tried to swallow past the fear and guilt that had formed a lump in his throat.

“Fenris is there,” he croaked.

“I know, ser.”

Tomas placed a tentative hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. Hawke nodded and the young soldier went off to start coordinating what he could. Hawke staggered over to the fire and collapsed onto a log. He scrubbed his face with his hands and steadfastly did not look in the direction of the small village where Fenris was. The small village that was now under attack. As much as he’d hated being the one everyone looked to for solutions, he hated this even more. Being helpless wasn’t his strong suit.

He was still caught up in his thoughts and recriminations when two people sat down opposite him. He looked up to see the very Templar and mage he’d passed a few days before. They looked as worried as he did and he couldn’t help staring when the Templar wrapped an arm gently around the mage, who immediately turn her face into his shoulder and started crying quietly.

The Templar looked over the fire at him and nodded sombrely. “Ser Theo. You’re… Hawke, aren’t you? Lieutenant Tomas said that’s who you are.” Hawke nodded and Theo nodded towards the crying mage in his arms. “This is Enchanter Lorelai.”

The mage raised her head and nodded. Hawke smiled back as best he could and somehow managed to dredge up enough humour to say, “Enchanted.”

Lorelai gave him a watery smile in return then she looked up at Theo. “Who would attack Haven?”

Hawke watched as the young Templar’s face turned very dark and grim. “The Templars,” he ground out. “It has to be.”

“Aren’t _you_ a Templar?” Hawke asked, managing to keep most of his rancour out of his voice.

Theo seemed to hear it anyway. “Yes, ser. I am. But I’m with the group who chose to go to the Inquisition. There was something… not right about the Lord Seeker’s orders. We all knew it, just… not everyone was willing to make a stand about it.”

“What orders?” Hawke asked.

“He wanted everyone to report to Therinfal Redoubt,” Theo replied. He shook his head. “It’s not right. Our duty is to protect the mages and the people of Thedas, especially now with that Breach in the sky. We can’t do that holed up in Therinfal Redoubt.”

“The Templars all disappeared from Therinfal after the Herald conscripted us,” Lorelai said softly. “As far as I know, nobody’s been able to find out where they went.”

Hawke frowned then one word caught his attention. “Wait… you were _conscripted_?” 

He’d heard the Inquisition had accepted the rebel mages into their ranks but he hadn’t realised it had been conscription. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised given Fenris’ opinions about magic but he couldn’t help the way his heart fell.

Lorelai nodded and smiled wryly. “We were. We’d given ourselves over to a Tevinter magister, who had claimed Redcliffe castle and kicked out the Arl. King Alistair was furious and revoked his offer of sanctuary and banished us. We didn’t have much choice but to accept the Herald’s terms.” She seemed to notice the stricken expression on Hawke’s face and hurried on. “It’s not like the Circles, though. Please don’t think that.”

“Not enough Templars,” Theo said with a grin and Lorelai snickered in response to what seemed to be a personal joke between the two of them. Hawke stared at them with surprise.

Lorelai sighed and shrugged. “We’ve only got ourselves to blame.” She rolled her eyes and continued dryly, “Which Madame Vivienne has been so quick to remind us of every time she sees any of us. Stupid bint.” She shook her head. “I wanted freedom. I voted for it and we got what we wanted, though at a price I don’t think any of us were expecting. But we were determined. The Circles were horrible. Not all of them but too many of them. This was our chance to prove ourselves, to prove that the Circles were unnecessary.”

She grimaced and shook her head. “Then we went and buggered it up. We allied ourselves with a Tevinter magister, Ser Hawke. That was always going to come back and bite us on the collective arse. We’re just lucky that the Herald has been so fair and reasonable. He conscripted us, yes, and we are essentially the Inquisition’s prisoners but he’s made it very plain that he will not tolerate any mistreatment of us and…” She shrugged again. “He’s basically said that although we’ve blotted our copy book in a fairly major way, he’s willing to give us a chance to earn our freedoms again.” She waved a hand at herself and Theo. “Which is how I’m here and not there right now. I’m… a lot more pragmatic than some of my fellow mages.”

“Commander Cullen has backed that up,” Theo added before Hawke could say anything. “There are a few of the older Templars who aren’t happy with that but the Commander has put them on restricted duty away from the mages until they either see reason or leave the Inquisition.”

“Wait,” Hawke said with a frown. “Cullen? As in the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall’s Templars?”

“Former,” Ser Theo said with a nod and a look on his face that said he had at least a mild case of hero worship for his commanding officer. “But yes. He’s left the Order though so don’t call him Knight-Captain. He gets tetchy about that.”

“He gets tetchy about a lot of things,” Lorelai said dryly.

“He does have his grumpy moments,” Theo conceded. “But he’s a good commander.”

“That’s true,” Lorelai said then she giggled. “He also goes a lovely shade of red whenever Lord Pavus flirts with him.”

Ser Theo smothered a smile as though he found that just as funny as Lorelai did but didn’t want to laugh at his commanding officer.

“Oh _really_?” Hawke said with his own grin, remembering the way Cullen had blushed and stammered about the girls at the Blooming Rose. “I didn’t know he liked men.”

“I don’t know if he does or doesn’t,” Lorelai said. “But he sure doesn’t mind Lord Pavus’ flirting if his little smile when the man walks away is anything to go by. I’ve seen it a few times now.”

“Lorelai,” Theo said reprovingly.

“What?” The mage grinned for a moment then she sobered. “He does have a reputation among the mages, Theo. There are all sorts of stories, most of them unpleasant, and if even half of them are true, then we have a right to worry. But seeing him go all red and bashful when a mage… a Tevinter mage at that… is flirting with him, well, it sets people’s minds at ease.”

There were so many things in what Lorelai had just said that Hawke wanted to ask questions about, most especially about this Tevinter mage, but instead he decided to put in his copper piece about Cullen. He did owe the man a small favour, after all. They probably still would have won that battle in the Gallows without him but he had certainly helped _and_ he’d spoken against Meredith’s call for the Right of Annulment.

“He fought with us against Meredith,” he said. “And before that, he called Meredith out when she wanted to annul the Circle. He even tried to relieve her of command.”

Lorelai looked over at him and nodded. “Yes, so we’ve heard. It helps. And it also helps that he’s been very fair since we arrived in Haven and his orders have backed that up. He’s also approved small missions like the one Theo and I have been doing.” She smiled a little. “It’s nice. It sort of feels like what the Circles should have been like.”

“Has there been any trouble?” Hawke asked.

Theo grimaced. “Some of the Fereldan troops weren’t too happy about what happened in Redcliffe. Things boiled over a bit but no one was hurt.” He smiled wryly. “And everyone discovered it’s a very bad idea to make the Commander angry. His punishment details are kind of creative.”

“He’s also willing to dig down and find out the whole story, not just blame one side or the other,” Lorelai added. “That whole incident started because a couple of the mages got drunk and were obnoxious about the whole thing.” She gave a sweet, slightly malicious smile. “I’m sure they enjoyed their two weeks on latrine duty. No magic allowed.”

“Probably about as much as the soldiers enjoyed moving all those rocks from one side of Haven and then back again when the Commander decided that no, he’d actually like them back where they were in the first place,” Theo said with a laugh. He looked over at Hawke. “I said he got creative.”

Hawke laughed. “I like it.” 

He inadvertently looked in the direction of the Breach and Haven and grimaced as his fear and worry thumped back into his chest. They’d done such a wonderful job distracting him and now he’d undone all that work.

He looked over at the mage and the Templar. “So…” he said a little desperately. “Tell me about this Tevinter mage. Because that’s a hell of a thing.”

The two of them began a rambling account of the events at Redcliffe and Hawke did his best to hang on every word as a distraction. Once that tale was done, he added his own about some of the things he’d done in Kirkwall and bit by bit, they whiled away the hours. Once they’d exhausted those topics of conversation, they gave in to the inevitable and started a low-voiced discussion on how best to combine their abilities should the need arise. It was odd to work in concert with a Templar but Theo seemed reasonable so Hawke was willing to take any allies he could find.

Three days later another raven flew into the camp. There had been no further word from the Inquisition since the first raven so there was a collective sigh of relief at the sight of the bird. Someone had survived whatever had happened in Haven. One of the soldiers took the message and read it out again, though the first words made them all groan.

“Haven lost. On way to safe place in Frostbacks. Await further instructions.”

“Was that good news or bad news?” Theo muttered.

“I have no idea,” Hawke replied. “Sounds like my kind of day though.” Theo shot him a confused look and Hawke snorted. “So many times I wasn’t sure whether I’d won or lost. Varric just makes me look good.”

Theo smiled. “He does make you sound pretty heroic. So what do we do?”

Hawke grimaced. “Wait. There’s not much else we can do until we find out where the hell they’re going.” His hands were clenched into fists at the delay and the terrible uncertainty about what had happened to Fenris. The message hadn’t mentioned him at all and Hawke didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not.

Theo nodded then he hesitated a moment before saying, “He’ll be alright, Hawke. There’s not a man or woman in Haven who wouldn’t protect him.”

Hawke bowed his head for a moment. “I should have _been there_. I should _never_ have left him alone,” he said with anguish. 

Theo gripped his shoulder for a moment. “He’ll be fine.”

It was another week before they finally received further word and this time it came in the form of a report and a map. Everyone gathered around excitedly and it took a moment for Lieutenant Tomas to calm them down.

“Alright! Shut up, everyone!” Those in the camp settled and waited eagerly. “The Inquisition has set up in a place called Skyhold. That’s what the map is for. To show us where it is so we can direct people there. There were casualties but the majority of people made it out of Haven and are safe.” 

Tomas’ eyes widened as he read the report then he continued grimly “It was Templars who had been corrupted by red lyrium who attacked and they were commanded by a former Templar called Samson. Their leader is this Elder One we’ve been told about but he has a name. Corypheus.”

Hawke staggered at that and went pale, horror-struck. He waved off the curious looks he received and gestured for the soldier to continue.

“He also has a dragon,” Tomas said. “They don’t know if it’s an archdemon or not.” The grim look on his face was replaced by awe. “The Herald went and faced this Corypheus in person in order to save everyone else. He used a trebuchet to bring half the mountain down on Corypheus and the Templars but the Herald survived!”

A rousing cheer went up from the soldiers and Hawke looked around, a stunned smile growing on his face. He’d seen it since he’d been in the camp but this just solidified it. These people _respected_ Fenris. They cared about him and liked him. Not because Hawke had demanded it but because Fenris was their Herald. 

“We’re to hold our position for the moment,” the soldier continued. “They know we should already have rotated back but we’ve been asked to hold for the moment until they sort everything out. They’ll have replacements out to us in a week or two.”

There were eager and fervent nods from the soldiers and they quickly fell back into their duties with a renewed spring in their step. Tomas looked over at Hawke.

“If you want to make a copy of the map, you can head up to Skyhold whenever you like, Ser Hawke. They’re still clearing parts of the road up to the place but they say it should be passable anyway.”

Hawke nodded and hurried over to the table, accepting the paper and pencil he was offered to make a quick sketch copy of the map. He was trying desperately not to think about the fact that Corypheus was responsible for this because he’d thought Corypheus was dead. He’d been sure of it. He’d watched Fenris shove that enormous sword of his through Corypheus’ chest. What had he done wrong? And did this have something to do with the problems with the Wardens? He’d have to send a note to Stroud and Carver when he got to this Skyhold place and found out more.

Once the map was done, he hurried over to the tent and found Theo and Lorelai waiting, holding his pack and staff out to him. He looked at them with surprise then laughed.

“You’re as bad as my friends back in Kirkwall.”

“Hey, it’s not all selfless hero worship,” Theo said with a grin that said it wasn’t that at all. “We want to get back too.”

Hawke accepted his pack and slung it on his back and then the three of them headed off with a wave of thanks to the soldiers. The road through the Frostbacks was old and treacherous in places but about a third of the way up, they met the Inquisition forces who were clearing the way. After that, the road was much better and it wasn’t long before Skyhold loomed up before them. They were all stunned and couldn’t stop staring at the place as they made their way towards the bridge, wondering how the hell a place like that hadn’t been found before now.

They were met by Inquisition soldiers at the gates of the bridge and waved on. Hawke noticed that the morale of the soldiers seemed far higher than the circumstances really warranted but it wasn’t until they reached the other side of the bridge that he even began to find out why. They’d seen the raven flying overhead as they crossed the bridge so he wasn’t surprised to see a welcoming party waiting for them but he only had eyes for the white-haired elf in the middle of the group. He was so fixated that he barely even noticed that Fenris was wearing something _other_ than his spiky armour.

He shouldered off his pack and dropped his staff and didn’t stop until he could wrap his arms around his lover and bury his face in Fenris’ neck, breathing in the elf’s familiar scent as tears welled in his eyes. Fenris had no hesitation in returning his embrace, even in front of all the others, and that was new. There had always been just a moment of hesitation before.

He finally convinced himself to let go, at least a little, and gave Fenris a lopsided smile as he cradled his lover’s face with both hands. “Hey.”

Fenris had a tight grip on his hips and his eyes were warm. But it was the tiny so-very-familiar smile that made Hawke finally relax.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Fenris groused and Hawke grinned.

“You know me. I got distracted.”

Something in Fenris’ expression wobbled and before Hawke could figure out what it was, he was being pulled into a desperate kiss. He wrapped Fenris up in his arms again as he returned the kiss, now feeling the tremors running through his lover, and when they finally separated again, he rested his forehead against Fenris’. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should never have left you behind.”

Before Fenris could reply, they heard the sound of someone clearing their throat awkwardly and then a familiar voice spoke.

“Your pardon, Inquisitor…”

Hawke looked over at Cullen and raised an eyebrow. Cullen looked both better and worse than the last time he’d seen the man. The lack of Templar armour definitely suited him but the man had an air of exhaustion about him that seemed beyond what might be expected of the circumstances.

“Hi,” he said brightly, in way he knew annoyed people to no end. “Commander suits you.” He then frowned and looked back at Fenris. “Inquisitor?”

“They gave me the job,” Fenris said dryly. 

“You accepted.” The equally dry comment came from a tall severe looking woman with a scar on her cheek who was studiously avoiding looking at him. When she did sneak a glance, Hawke saw a barely suppressed look of awe and delight in her eyes. There was also a faint lingering anger but that didn’t seem to be directed at him.

“No one else wanted it,” Fenris countered with that sly humour that very few people ever saw. 

Hawke was a bit taken aback for a moment. Fenris had only ever revealed that sense of humour to people he trusted and liked, which up until now had only been Hawke and their friends. To see him act in that way with people who were complete strangers was… odd. Until Hawke realised these people weren’t strangers to Fenris. He’d been working with them ever since the explosion at the Conclave.

Just for a moment, jealousy swarmed through him then he could only mentally laugh and smack himself upside the head. Seeing Fenris step into his own had always been what he’d wanted and here it was. And he had no cause for jealousy or thinking he wasn’t wanted anymore, not after that kiss.

“Inquisitor Fenris,” he said then he grinned. “Suits you.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Neither did I,” Hawke said with a laugh. “Now you know how I felt in Kirkwall.”

“I always knew you were just making it up as you went along,” Cullen said so dryly that Hawke could only laugh.

He waggled a finger at the former Templar. “Who knew you had a sense of humour hiding under all that dour gruffness? I like it! Knight-Captain Cullen was a grump. I like Commander Cullen much better. You’re not so much of an arse anymore.”

He grinned at the ‘give me strength, oh Maker’ expression that appeared on Cullen’s face and thoroughly approved of that as well. Whatever stick Cullen had once had shoved up his arse, he’d clearly pulled it out.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said again, pointedly ignoring Hawke though there was a small smirk on his face as he did so that Hawke thoroughly approved of. “You should catch up with Hawke. We’ve sorted out the most important things. The rest can wait until tomorrow.”

Fenris gave him a small nod. “Thank you.”

With that, the crowd dispersed and Hawke saw his new friends disappearing off towards the stronghold, though they did give him smiles and waves as they went. Hawke turned back to Fenris.

“So what now?”

Fenris gave him one of those half-smiles that he adored so much, his eyes warm with affection and something a little more. “How about I show you the rooms they’ve given me?”

Hawke’s grin turned decidedly lascivious. “Now that sounds like a plan.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke and Fenris talk about a few important matters like Corypheus and Solas' revelations about Fenris' marking and after that, this fic starts to earn its Mature rating. :D
> 
> Okay, this is essentially part 2 of the previous chapter. The chapter after this will probably also be Hawke-centric as he meets the rest of the Inner Circle and tries to work out his place in Fenris' Inquisition.

Hawke followed Fenris through the main hall to a door near a simple but rather official looking throne. He raised an eyebrow at that but left it alone as he followed Fenris through the door, up some stairs then through a second door. More stairs led them to a large airy room that was currently sparsely decorated. A bed, a desk and chair and some half-filled bookshelves, a wardrobe and a slightly battered couch and table were all that was in the room. But the windows were tall and the doors to the balconies were open, letting in the cool mountain air and plenty of light.

“Nice,” he said, looking around with interest. It was certainly a hell of a change from the dark and dank mansion Fenris had occupied in Kirkwall.

Fenris grimaced. “I told them I didn’t need such luxury but Josephine insisted.”

“Well, you are Inquisitor now,” Hawke said with an odd note in his voice.

Fenris picked up on that immediately. “You disagree?” he said, his chin going up.

Hawke’s eyes widened and he closed the gap between them, closing one hand on Fenris’ shoulder. “Of course not! Maker, look at this place. This is amazing and if what I’ve heard is right, you’ve been at the head of it from the very beginning.”

“I did not exactly have much choice,” Fenris said, holding up his left hand.

Hawke held it gently and looked at the green mark pulsating in the palm of Fenris’ hand. He could feel the magic in it and he winced, knowing how much Fenris must have hated waking up with that on his hand.

“Maker, I’m sorry, Fenris,” Hawke said with remorse. “If I hadn’t…” He ducked his head and his voice was shaking when he continued. “If I hadn’t left you behind, you wouldn’t have this magical thing on your hand.”

Fenris pulled his hand free and brushed the fingers of his right hand over Hawke’s cheeks. “That is true but what’s done is done.”

Hawke smiled wanly. “That’s surprisingly philosophical of you.”

Fenris scowled at him but there was enough exasperated affection in the expression that Hawke only grinned back at him.

“I can use it to close the rifts.” He hesitated and grimaced. “And it is permanent. According to Corypheus.”

“Shit,” Hawke said, collapsing onto the couch. “It’s really him?”

Fenris nodded. “I got a very close and personal look at him. He recognised me.”

“You did stick your sword in his chest,” Hawke said. “That is the sort of thing a man might remember. How did he survive?”

“He didn’t say. He was too busy telling me about how he intends to become a god.”

“Great.” Hawke ran a hand through his hair. “So he’s upgraded his ambitions then. I don’t suppose he told you how he’s planning on doing that?”

Fenris held up his hand again. “He was intending to use this mark to tear open the Fade and enter the Black City.”

“I guess you kind of ruined those plans.”

“I did,” Fenris said then he hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Though I have no memory of how.”

Hawke sucked in a sharp breath. He knew Fenris well enough to be able to read the emotions running underneath the surface and despite his relatively calm exterior, the elf was very much _not_ happy about that. He got up and stood close to Fenris. He was careful not to touch him however. He’d learned over the years that it was better to let Fenris come to him when things got fraught emotionally. It gave his lover some control and Hawke was always willing to wait. And Fenris _did_ come to him these days. As he did now.

Fenris leaned against his lover and closed his eyes, letting his forehead rest against Hawke’s shoulder. Nothing had really changed in his life. He was still in charge of the Inquisition, he still had the mark on his hand and his memories were still gone and, though there was nothing that Hawke could really do about any of that, he felt better for having him here. 

“There is a Tevinter mage here,” he said, not wanting to dwell on the subject of his missing memories and knowing this subject above all would distract Hawke.

“So I heard,” Hawke said. He sounded suspicious and the arm he wrapped around Fenris was protective. “Who the hell is he?”

“Dorian Pavus,” Fenris replied. “I… remember him.”

Hawke’s worry intensified. “Really. How?”

“His father met with Danarius,” Fenris explained. “I remember both of them because their reaction to seeing me was unusual. Dorian was horrified and his father furious with Danarius.”

That wasn’t what Hawke was expecting to hear. “Really?”

“Dorian came to us,” Fenris added, rather enjoying Hawke’s reaction now that he’d gone some way to clearing the air between himself and the Tevinter mage. “He betrayed his mentor and an unknown section of his nation.”

“Huh,” Hawke said. “I guess I should meet this man. Is he a Magister?”

Fenris shook his head. “Altus. His father is a Magister.”

Hawke snorted. “I’m kind of surprised you didn’t kill him.”

“I was tempted,” Fenris said dryly. “Several times. But he is something of a pariah.”

Hawke was forced to reorganise his thought in regard to this Tevinter mage and it definitely sounded like he would be an interesting person to meet. Then he recalled something.

“Hey. Pavus. I met a couple of Inquisition people who said he’s flirting with Cullen.”

Fenris chuckled and Hawke grinned. He always liked it when he made Fenris laugh.

“He is.”

“And Cullen likes it?” Hawke said dubiously. “The man couldn’t even talk about the girls at the Rose without blushing and stammering all over the place and he made his opinions on mages pretty plain.”

“He has changed,” Fenris said. Just yesterday they’d had a discussion regarding Cullen’s withdrawal and that Cassandra was monitoring him. Fenris had thought that a good idea. He had come to know Cullen better in Haven and believed the man would succeed where so many others had failed. “He is wary of magic but so too am I.”

Hawke made a disgruntled sound but there was amusement gleaming in his eyes nonetheless. “You’re going to make me give him a chance, aren’t you?”

“You gave me a chance,” Fenris replied. “Why not him?”

Hawke sighed dramatically. “Oh, _fine_.” He waggled his eyebrows at Fenris. “If you make it worth my while.”

Fenris shoved him away with a small smile. “You are ridiculous.”

Hawke came up behind Fenris and wrapped his arms around his waist, drawing him back against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the back of Fenris’ neck and grinned at the shiver he got for that.

“You like me when I’m ridiculous.”

“I tolerate you when you are ridiculous,” Fenris said archly but he relaxed back into Hawke anyway.

Hawke hummed and kissed the side of Fenris’ neck. “You know, I like the lack of spiky armour. As much as I enjoyed the risk of impaling my head every time I wanted to do this, this is much easier.”

“Varric convinced me to accept the armour Harritt made for me,” Fenris said, tilting his head a little.

“How is Varric anyway?” Hawke asked as he licked at the line of lyrium that ran up to the base of Fenris’ ear. He was gentle doing that. It had gotten easier for Fenris to accept his touch but he never wanted to cause him pain when he was trying to create pleasure.

“Meddlesome.”

“So about normal then.”

Fenris closed his eyes as Hawke gently kissed his way down the line of lyrium he’d been licking. He felt Hawke’s magic thrumming gently through the markings and remembered what Solas had said about them. He couldn’t help the way he tensed and a moment later Hawke’s mouth disappeared from his skin.

“Fenris?” Hawke said, a thread of worry and concern in his voice. “Did I…?”

Fenris shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

Hawke settled Fenris in his embrace and pressed a kiss into his white hair. “Uh-uh. Try again. You’ve gotten all tense and you’re not relaxing.”

Fenris muttered a Tevene curse under his breath. Hawke being so aware of the way he reacted was both a blessing and a curse. It meant he rarely had to actually tell Hawke when he needed to stop but on the other hand, it meant that Hawke always _would_ stop, even when Fenris would be quite happy to keep going.

“At first, the mark on my hand was reacting with the lyrium,” he said after a long pause. “Using one or the other… hurt and it made using my abilities difficult. Solas was able to fix that but he discovered some things about the lyrium.”

“I’m guessing by the way you tensed up that they’re not good things,” Hawke said dryly.

Fenris was silent for a long moment then he turned in Hawke’s arms and did something he rarely did without Hawke first prompting him. He tucked himself close, burying his face in Hawke’s neck. He could feel Hawke’s beard scratching against his forehead and sighed at the familiar sensation.

“The lyrium brands are unstable,” he said, a tremor running through his voice. “Unless they are maintained by a mage, they will destabilise. Solas doesn’t know precisely what would happen in that case.”

It took a moment for the significance of that to sink in then rage welled up in Hawke’s chest. “That fucking _bastard_!” Abruptly the rage was replaced by horror. “Fenris…” he said in a choked voice. “You know I would never…”

Fenris chuckled, which startled Hawke into silence. He raised his head and ran his fingers through the short hair of Hawke’s beard.

“I know. Solas… helped me think things through and realise that.” 

He blushed then and saw Hawke’s eyebrow go up. He scowled but that only gained him a chuckle. 

“What?” Hawke asked, a grin playing around his lips.

Fenris gave an exasperated sigh. “Your magic… what we have been doing… it… it has kept them stable.”

Hawke gave him a lascivious grin that was tinged with all sorts of other emotions as well. “Well… at least we make it fun.”

Fenris caressed his cheek. “I know you would let me walk away, no matter what the cost to me or you. I know you would never keep me against my will.”

“Never,” Hawke breathed. “I would have you at my side willingly or not at all.”

Fenris gave him a small half-smile then he tucked himself back under Hawke’s chin. “Solas also says there is a reason why it has become less painful for you to touch them.”

“Oh?” Hawke nuzzled into Fenris’ hair again.

“They have become… attuned to your magic.”

Hawke frowned. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Since it means you can touch me without causing pain, then I would say it is a good thing,” Fenris said. “Solas thinks intent has something to do with it, both yours and mine. Since I hated Danarius and he never cared about me except as his property, they always hurt with him. It is different with… with us.”

“Because I love you?”

Fenris nodded. He struggled for a moment with the words he wanted to say. It had gotten easier with time but they still got stuck at first. “And because I… love you.”

Hawke’s beaming smile was worth the effort of getting those words out as was the kiss that followed the smile. In the middle of the kiss, the entire atmosphere in the room changed. Fenris buried his hand in Hawke’s hair and deepened the kiss while pushing the mage back towards the bed. Hawke went along willingly and when the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed, he let go of Fenris and let himself fall back onto the mattress. 

He grinned and wriggled his shoulders. “Comfy. Much better than your old bed.”

Fenris snorted and climbed onto the bed, sitting across Hawke’s hips. He ground down briefly, which wiped the smile off Hawke’s face and made him throw his head back and groan. Hawke clutched at his hips and held him still.

“Fuck. It’s been far too long.”

Fenris leaned over, bracing his hands on either side of Hawke’s head. His gaze was dark and heated. “And whose fault is that?”

Hawke ran his hands up Fenris’ sides. “Mine. All mine.” He slid one hand behind his lover’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. “Want you.”

Fenris straightened up and gave that little lopsided smile that Hawke loved so much. His eyes were warm and despite his mind being somewhat addled by lust, Hawke realised there was something intangibly _different_ about Fenris now. There was a confidence and a self-possession about him that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen him. Those things had been developing, yes, slowly but surely, but now they were in full bloom.

Hawke had to admit that the idea of a Fenris who could and had flourished and succeeded without him was… incredibly sexy. He knew that some of their friends had had reservations about the relationship, not because they thought they were bad for each other but because Fenris’ background was so bad and they had worried that it left him vulnerable. It was why Hawke hadn’t tried to stop Fenris when he’d left so many years ago. It was why he hadn’t tried to get him back but had made it plain that he still cared for him and that if Fenris returned, he’d be welcomed. Hawke had been well aware of the dangers of the relationship and he’d only ever wanted Fenris at his side – in any form – of his own free will. Because he wanted to be there.

“Fenris?” he said, struggling to keep his expression sober and serious.

“Yes?”

Hawke let the moment hang then he couldn’t help but grin as he said, “Inquisit me?”

Fenris made a noise halfway between an exasperated growl and a laugh. “You are an idiot,” he said with a fond warmth that made Hawke’s heart thump. As much as he liked watching Fenris at his spiky, snarly, growly best, this side of the elf was his favourite.

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he said with a sappy smile.

“Yes, you are,” Fenris said, returning that smile.

Hawke pulled him down into another kiss and things soon turned heated. Fenris began to roll his hips down against Hawke’s. The mage caught hold of his hips and deftly encouraged him as they continued to kiss. After a moment, he began to fumble rather ineffectually at Fenris’ clothes. The elf laughed, a low rich sound that drew an appreciative noise from Hawke, and straightened. He shrugged off his tunic and shirt and Hawke’s hands were drawn almost automatically to the lean muscles of his lover’s chest and stomach. His fingers traced across the silver-white lyrium markings that wove their way across Fenris’ skin in intricate, elegant patterns. As he did, he let tiny amounts of his magic flow into the markings.

Fenris moaned and let his head drop forward, his hands braced on Hawke’s chest, as the minute flow of magic through the lyrium stoked his pleasure. They discovered this effect by accident not long after they’d rekindled their relationship. He’d received a deep slash to his side in a fight with the Carta and he’d refused to go to Anders’ clinic but Hawke had fretted that the wounds wouldn’t heal well unless he allowed someone to heal him. He’d finally agreed to allow Hawke to use his limited ability at healing and when he’d brushed over the markings with his magic active, the jolt of pure arousal that had gone flooding through him had been startling and, at first, humiliating. 

But Hawke had never used it to his advantage or to manipulate or control him. He’d always asked permission until Fenris had finally come to trust not only the mage but this form of magic and given him blanket permission to use it during sex. The things Solas had told him about the markings tried to crowd his thoughts now and he almost tensed until another slow wave of magic-induced pleasure drove anything other than Hawke out of his mind. He moaned and closed his eyes against the sensation then he pulled away and started pulling the rest of his clothes off with more haste than skill.

“Get those clothes off, Hawke, or I will remove them for you,” he growled.

Hawke’s eyes widened and lust bloomed in them but he hastily shed his clothes and shifted up the bed to a more comfortable position. Fenris crawled back onto the bed and Hawke pulled him on top. They both groaned as they found themselves skin to skin, their cocks aligned together. Fenris undulated his hips and Hawke clutched at his back, again letting traces of magic trickle into the lyrium markings.

Fenris’ movements became more frantic and Hawke slid his hands down until he could grab the elf’s arse and guide his movements. He could feel Fenris’ mouth against his neck and he tilted his head back to allow him better access. They were both moaning and gasping, the bed creaking lightly underneath them, and Hawke knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer. He slid one finger into the crease of Fenris’ arse and rubbed it lightly over his hole. The elf gasped and cried out and then he bucked his hips sharply against Hawke then froze. Hawke felt the wet warmth spread between them and that was all he needed. He arched underneath Fenris as he came with a cry of his lover’s name then he slumped down again, Fenris a limp figure on top of him.

He wrapped his arms around the elf and rolled onto his side so they could curl up together. It was a familiar position, Fenris tucked against his front, their legs tangled together, and he felt something inside him relax for the first time since he’d walked out of the inn without Fenris. He knew they’d need to get up soon and clean up but for now he just wanted to hold his lover again.

After a few minutes, Fenris shifted. “I should…”

“Rest. With me,” Hawke said.

Fenris didn’t feel particularly inclined to move but he knew how many things were sitting on the war table, waiting for decisions to be made. “Hawke…”

“No,” Hawke said, nuzzling into Fenris’ hair. “Old stick-up-his-arse Cullen gave you the rest of the day off so you’re going to rest.” He shifted so that he could nibble along the length of Fenris’ ear. “Rest and later I’ll show you just how much I missed you.”

Fenris made a contented sound and shifted so that Hawke had better access to his ears. He felt he should say something about what he’d called Cullen but he knew Hawke wouldn’t believe anything about the man until he’d seen it for himself. So he let himself be persuaded into closing his eyes and relaxing into Hawke’s embrace.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the complicated when Hawke talks to Solas and Dorian. Old ghosts lurk in the background and the Inquisition rallies to protect its Inquisitor. Hawke is absurdly pleased about this.

The next morning Hawke found himself at something of a loose end. He’d had breakfast with Fenris but after that his lover had gone into the ominously named War Room with Cullen and two women who had been introduced as Josephine Montilyet and Sister Leliana. Not that Sister Leliana had really needed an introduction after their very interesting meeting in Kirkwall. Hawke had not been invited into this meeting and truth be told, he was a little relieved that no one felt that he was needed to solve any of their problems. It did leave him at a bit of a loose end though.

He wandered through the main hall of Skyhold and looked around with interest. There was scaffolding everywhere and the place was obviously in the middle of extensive repairs but he could see that it was a formidable stronghold. He was still peering up at the roof when a familiar voice hailed him.

“Hawke!”

He turned around with a grin and sauntered over to where Varric was standing near one of the doors.

“Varric! I was wondering where you were.”

Varric grinned back at him. “I figured you’d want to catch up with Broody first.”

“Good guess,” Hawke said with a salacious grin that drew a laugh out of the dwarf. Then he sobered. “So.”

Varric nodded. “So. I’m glad you’re here, Hawke. Broody’s been holding up well but he’s not a natural leader.”

“And I am?” Hawke said dubiously.

Varric snorted. “Yes. Not necessarily an orthodox leader but you’re a natural one nevertheless.”

Hawke winced but had to concede the point. “Fenris said you’ve been meddlesome so by that I’m going to assume you’ve been looking out for him.”

“As best as I could,” Varric replied. “Everyone was a bit on edge after the explosion and they wanted to chain him up. I couldn’t let that happen so I had to step up.”

Hawke was silent for a moment then he gripped Varric’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Hey, he’s my friend,” Varric replied. “So what do you have planned?”

“Today? No idea,” Hawke replied. “Fenris is off in the War Room so I’m at loose ends.”

Varric gave him a shrewd look. “Might want to have a wander around then. See the place, meet a few people, that sort of thing.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow and smothered a smile. Varric could be very obvious when he wanted something done but didn’t want to insist “Uhuh. Any route in particular I ought to take?”

Varric gestured with one thumb to the door behind him. “You might find a couple of interesting people through that door and also up the stairs.”

Hawke gave him a long look then laughed. “Alright. I’ll bite but you know if _they_ do, I’m going to be very cross with you, Varric.”

He gave the dwarf a wave and headed through the door. It opened into a large round room at the base of a tower. There was a couch against the wall and a table in the middle. Leaning over the table and peering down at some papers was an elf, who now looked up at him curiously.

“Hello,” the elf said. “You must be Hawke. I am Solas.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Solas? Fenris mentioned you. He said you helped with his markings and…” He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “And worked out what was going on with them.”

“I did,” Solas said, straightening up and clasping his hands in front of him. “You had never tried to examine them?”

Hawke shook his head. “No. Admittedly I’ve never asked but it took a long time to get where I am now with Fenris and I didn’t want to… to jeopardise anything.” He smiled wryly. “My relationship with him is very different from yours.”

“That is true,” Solas said. “He only allowed me to do so because of the poor interaction between the lyrium and the mark on his hand.”

“Yeah, he said you helped with that. Thank you, by the way. Not everyone is as patient with him and, well, I’m sure you got a dose of what he can be like around mages.”

Solas chuckled. “From what I have been told, he has ample reason to dislike and distrust mages but given that he has entered into a relationship with a mage, I felt that a little patience and kindness would hold me in good stead.”

Hawke grinned. “Yeah. I think he takes us on a case by case basis. I kind of snuck past his defences somehow and he… ended up tolerating Anders and Merrill.”

Solas cocked his head curiously. “I have heard of Anders but not this Merrill.”

Hawke sauntered over and lounged in one of the chairs around the table. “She’s a Dalish elf, though she was kicked out of her clan. She was trying to repair an eluvian and her Keeper disapproved. Though I think that was less about repairing the eluvian and more about the fact she’d turned to blood magic and making deals with demons in order to do so.”

“Did she succeed?” Solas said after a moment’s silence.

Hawke shook his head. “No, though she hasn’t given up.”

“Interesting,” Solas said.

Hawke arched an eyebrow. “That’s not the usual reaction she gets.”

“I can imagine,” Solas said with a thin smile though he did not elaborate.

“Anyway,” Hawke said, not feeling inclined at the moment to push Solas. “Fenris also said you sort of walked him through realising I’m not a jerk like Danarius so thank you for that. I mean, I’d have waited for him to work his way through it on his own but it was nice to not have to do that again.”

“Again?” Solas cocked his head.

Hawke smiled slightly. “I waited three years for him, Solas. I’d wait three more. I’d wait five. I’d wait _ten_. But I’m glad I don’t have to.”

As Hawke watched, Solas finally gave him his full and undivided attention. The elf’s gaze was hard to meet and his intensity was strange and unusual but Hawke held firm. He meant what he’d said. He’d wait a _hundred_ years for Fenris, if that’s what it took. Fenris meant that much to him.

“It is rare to see a love that is willing to let go if that is what is best,” Solas finally said.

Hawke was surprised to find himself blushing. “He’s worth it. I was fairly well smitten the first time I met him and… well, I knew even then that he’d be worth waiting for.” He sobered. “Then I found out about his past and I was glad I’d already decided that because that was when I knew I was going to _have_ to wait. I was going to have to let him know how I felt and then let him come to me when and if he was ready. I also knew there was a chance that he might never be ready.”

“Would you have still waited in that case?” Solas asked.

Hawke nodded. “If all he’d wanted was friendship, I’d have accepted that.” He smiled wryly. “I’d probably have pined pathetically a lot in private but I’d have accepted it. His happiness means… _everything_ to me.”

“Even at the expense of your own?”

“Yes,” Hawke said firmly. “I’m not the one who had everything, every part of my life, every _memory_ , taken away from me. I’m not the one who was a slave to an utter bastard. I’m not the one who has suffered abuse. If my happiness comes at the cost of even one _sliver_ of _his_ happiness then it’s too high a price to pay.”

Solas stared at him for a moment longer then he inclined his head towards Hawke. “Then perhaps you will be willing to help me?”

“If it helps Fenris, then the answer is yes.”

“No questions asked?”

Hawke smiled wryly. “No questions asked.”

Solas sat down in the chair opposite the one Hawke was still sprawled in. “I intend to find a way to stabilise the markings. I do not believe it would be possible to remove them without causing the same amount of pain as when they were placed there, perhaps even more, which would not be acceptable to any of us. But stabilising them? I believe that might be possible.”

Hawke leaned forward, his eyes alight with interest and eagerness. “Which would mean Fenris would be truly free. I’m in.”

Solas gave him an assessing look. “Even if it means he would leave you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Hawke said with a hint of asperity. “His happiness means _everything_ to me. If he can only be happy without me then I would let him go. Without hesitation.”

Solas leaned forward. “Forgive me, Hawke. I did not mean to distress you. I simply needed to be sure.”

“Well, if he’s not, I am.”

Hawke gave a start and swivelled awkwardly in his seat to see a dark-skinned man with a very fancy moustache walking into the room from the stairs that lead up. The man was wearing the oddest clothes Hawke had ever seen, one shoulder bared to the elements in a way he could only think must be freezing. But it was the accent, so similar to what he remembered from Danarius, that allowed him to identify the man.

“Huh. I feel like I’m lagging behind in the facial hair stakes,” he said lightly even as he took in everything he possibly could about the Tevinter mage standing in front of him.

“I’d grow a beard just for the warmth in this blighted country but I look terrible with that much facial hair.”

“Hawke, this is Dorian Pavus,” Solas said, watching the two of them with mild amusement.

“The Tevinter mage,” Hawke said, unable to keep his suspicion and wariness out of his voice or off his face.

“Ah, yes, that would be me,” Dorian said with dry resignation.

Hawke had been expecting Dorian to be insulted or angered or something along those lines but the weary acceptance of his suspicion was… unusual. 

“You want to help Fenris?” Hawke asked, his eyes narrowed.

“The Inquisitor and I have recently had a… meeting of minds,” Dorian said. “I think he’s a remarkable man who doesn’t deserve what has happened to him and I believe I can help.”

“How?” Hawke said harshly before grimacing and waving a hand. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve had… bad experiences with Tevinter mages.”

Dorian inclined his head. “To be perfectly honest, so have I. So I entirely understand.”

Hawke gave the man a long look but he couldn’t see any signs that Dorian was mocking him or lying. It made him reassess the mage and wonder whether these bad experiences had anything to do with why he was here.

“So how can you help?” he asked in a far milder tone.

Dorian wandered over and sat down in the remaining empty seat. “I have… people I can contact back in Tevinter. Depending on what happened to Danarius’ estate after he died, they _might_ be able to get their hands on his notes from when he originally placed those markings.”

Solas raised an eyebrow. “If that is possible, it would be an enormous help. If we can understand what Danarius was doing and why, it may make it easier to achieve our goal.”

Dorian held up one hand. “I said _might_ and my contacts will have to err on the side of caution. I don’t know if Danarius had any family but if he did, they might be inclined to try and reclaim _all_ of the property they believe they’ve inherited.”

It took a moment for the meaning behind that for sink in and when it did, Hawke’s anger flared.

“Fenris is _not_ anyone’s _property_ ,” he snarled.

“You’re preaching to the faithful, Hawke,” Dorian said, raising both his hands. “I’m just saying what his family, if there are any, might believe. If that’s the case, my contacts will have to be very careful and that might mean they can’t get hold of the relevant notes.”

Hawke yanked his temper back under control and waved a hand in apology at Dorian. He looked over at Solas with a frown. “Do you think you could work it out without the notes?”

“Yes,” Solas said firmly. “The notes would certainly make it easier and possibly quicker but yes, I do believe it can be done without them.”

Hawke nodded and stared down at his hands for a moment. “Alright,” he murmured before looking over at Dorian. “Do what you can but don’t place Fenris at risk. He’s got enough on his plate without having to deal with more shit from Danarius.”

Dorian gave a nod. “Maevaris is very, very good at this sort of thing. If it can be done, she’ll do it.”

“I shall write out the speculations and thoughts I have come up with thus far and see that you both get copies,” Solas said. “Once you’ve read them through, we can get started.”

“Sounds good.” Hawke relaxed back in his seat and gave Dorian a speculative look. “So… you’ve been flirting with Cullen?”

The expressions that ran across Dorian’s face for the brief seconds before he got himself under control were certainly edifying. There had been surprise, smugness and then wariness and fear. It was the latter two emotions that were the most surprising and got Hawke’s curiosity going.

“Have you seen the man?” Dorian said lightly. “Who wouldn’t?”

“I’m a little taken so…” Hawke said.

Dorian waved a hand. “Well, yes, present company excepted.”

Hawke shook his head and laughed. “Just let me watch next time. I want to see the look on his face.”

“As entertaining as that might be, I believe I have work to do,” Solas said dryly.

Hawke grinned and got to his feet, Dorian following suit. 

“Not one for gossip then, Solas?” Hawke asked, trying and failing to look innocent.

“No,” Solas said. He looked arch but amusement gleamed in his eyes.

Hawke sketched a mock salute. “I’ll just go and continue looking around this place then.

“And I’ll go and write some letters,” Dorian said. “A pleasure to meet you, Hawke.”

“Likewise,” Hawke said, actually meaning it this time. He took his leave of the two men and headed out the door he’d come in. He gave Varric a wave and walked out into the upper courtyard. The sun was out and he basked in the thin warmth it provided before meandering down the stairs. 

Across the courtyard, he could see what looked like a tavern and he headed in that direction. He opened the door to find it was half full even at this early hour and across the other side of the main room was an enormous one-eyed Qunari.

“Well, shit,” he breathed. This place was just full of surprises and things to make him tense up. If it wasn’t Tevinter mages, it was Qunari. He’d never been one to back away from a challenge however so he ambled up to the bar and bought himself a tankard of ale and then wandered over to where the Qunari was sitting. He dropped down into a nearby chair and saluted the Qunari with his tankard.

“Hi. I’m Hawke,” he said with his best shit-eating grin.

“The Iron Bull,” the Qunari said. “I’ve heard about you.”

Hawke took a drink and nodded. “Well, I did have a small run in with your Arishok.”

“That’s one way to describe it,” Bull said. “But that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve met one of my… colleagues,” Bull said. “Tallis.”

Hawke straightened a little. “You’re Ben-Hassrath?”

Bull nodded. “Don’t worry. The Inquisitor knows. I’m forwarding the reports I get onto Red.”

Hawke blinked but left the question of who ‘Red’ was alone. He could take a pretty good guess but it wasn’t really all that important. “Why? I mean, not why the reports but why are you here?”

“The Qunari are worried about that big hole in the sky and want to know whether they need to invade,” Bull said dryly. “They sent me to get close to the Inquisitor and send reports back. Since I figured it would be pointless trying to lie to something called the Inquisition, I was upfront about it.” He made a rumbling sound. “And I figured no one wants the Qunari invading.”

Hawke found himself once again having to reassess a member of the Inquisition. The Iron Bull was nothing like the Qunari he’d met back in Kirkwall. He was more like Tallis really but less… tricky. At least that’s what it seemed.

“Huh, you’re not what I expected.”

Bull snorted. “You met the old Arishok and members of the Antaam. They’re soldiers and not much more than that.”

Hawke shrugged and grinned a little. “I don’t know. The Arishok had a way with words. Or perhaps a way with _word_ would be a better phrasing. The way he said ‘no’ was sheer artistry. I did get a little peeved when he tried to take over my city though.”

“The old Arishok was good at getting people a little peeved,” Bull said with a chuckle. “The new one’s a lot better.”

“Nice to know I’m not going to have a horde of Qunari assassins on my trail for that,” Hawke said idly, taking another drink.

Bull snorted. “You defeated the Arishok in a sanctioned one on one combat duel. You are basalit-an.”

“Huh. I wasn’t sure that would have stuck after I killed him.”

“Only if you’d cheated in any way in the duel,” Bull said. “You were honourable. That matters.”

“I didn’t feel very honourable when I was running around the room in circles trying to stay clear of his sword,” Hawke said wryly. “Mage versus seven foot warrior isn’t the fairest of duels.”

“But you won.” Bull saluted him with his tankard. 

Hawke returned the salute. “That I did.” He eyed the enormous Qunari speculatively. “You like Fenris, right?”

Bull laughed. “Yeah, sure. He’s a good leader and damn slippery in a fight. Our sparring matches are always interesting.”

“And by interesting the Chief means he’s gets put on his arse at least half the time.”

Hawke looked round to see a young man with short-cropped hair wandering over with a tankard in his hand. When he got closer, he could see that the man wasn’t _that_ young; certainly he was old enough that his face shouldn’t be that smooth. Hawke put that together with the pitch of his voice and… came up with an answer that he then shelved with a mental shrug. 

“This is my Lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi,” Bull said expansively. “I call him Krem.”

“Hawke.” He held out his hand. “And should I call you Krem or is that reserved for him?”

“Krem’s fine.” The young man sat down with them and saluted them with his tankard. “It beats other names he’s come up with.”

Hawke cocked his head slightly. “Your accent… you’re from Tevinter?”

Krem nodded and for a moment looked mildly discomforted. “Yeah, though I haven’t been there for a while.”

“We had a lot of Tevinter slavers and mercenaries in Kirkwall,” Hawke explained. “And, well, with Fenris, I got familiar with the accent.”

“Makes sense,” Krem said. 

“So what’s up with the Boss?” Bull asked.

Hawke shifted on his seat and took a long drink. The ale here was mediocre but still a damn sight better than the swill that had been served in the Hanged Man. But something had occurred to him while he’d been sitting here and it had been slowly unfolding itself in his mind as he was talking to Bull. 

“You’re Ben-Hassrath,” Hawke said slowly. “Do you reckon you’d know if there were Tevinter bounty hunters hanging around?”

“Yeah,” Bull said. He sounded laconic but Hawke noticed he’d tensed just a little. “And if I managed to miss them, Krem would notice.”

Krem nodded. “They tend to be a bit obvious. Why?”

“I just had another conversation that…” Hawke waved the hand that wasn’t holding his tankard. “Well, it doesn’t matter what that conversation was about but it’s just occurred to me that the identity of the Inquisitor must be spreading by now. Maybe even to Tevinter?”

He saw the moment Bull understood and Krem impressed him by getting it just a few moments later.

“Fuck,” Krem breathed. “I forgot he’s a former slave.”

“Yeah,” Hawke said grimly. “And the subject of whether or not Danarius had any family who might be expecting to inherit _all_ of his property came up.”

“He’s the Inquisitor!” Krem protested. “They can’t think…” He broke off and grimaced. “Yeah. Actually they might think that. Most Magisters don’t give a rat’s rear end about anything other than what they want, let alone care about what the south thinks. If Danarius never officially freed the Boss then his heir or heirs would feel themselves well within their rights to reclaim their property, no matter what his rank is here.”

“Me and my boys will keep an eye out,” Bull said with alacrity then he gave Hawke a significant look. “You might want to have a word with Red about this. Get her to put her people on alert as well. I’ll speak to the rest of the Boss’ Inner Circle so that everyone’s keeping it in mind when he heads out. He doesn’t always take all of us so everyone will need to know.”

“Thanks,” Hawke said, trying to smother the sense of dread he was feeling.

“You going to speak to the Boss about this?” Bull asked.

“Argh,” Hawke said then he sighed. “I know I should but he’s got so much…” He shook his head in defeat. “No, I’ll have to tell him. He’s probably better than anyone else at knowing when there are bounty hunters around. I’ll do that today.”

“Atta boy,” Bull said dryly. “If you didn’t, I was going to. He needs to know what’s going on, not be coddled.”

Hawke rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m an overprotective pain in the arse. Tell me something I haven’t heard a hundred times.”

Both Bull and Krem chuckled then they both looked behind Hawke expectantly. Hawke turned and followed their gaze and saw one of the Inquisition soldiers heading for them.

“Serah Hawke!” the young woman said with a crisp salute. “The Inquisitor has asked if you would come to the War Room immediately.”

“Ooh, colour me important,” Hawke said, draining the last of his ale as he stood up. 

He gave Bull and Krem a wave then followed the soldier out of the tavern and back into the stronghold. Once there, the soldier took him through a door he’d noted but hadn’t known where it lead. The door led first to an office that was currently empty and then to a large set of double doors.

“Through there, Serah,” the soldier said, pointing to the doors.

She snapped off another crisp salute and hurried off. Hawke watched her go for a moment then squared his shoulders and pushed open one of the doors. The War Room was sparsely furnished. It was dominated by a large table that held a map of Thedas that had markers of varying types all over it. Beside the map lay paperwork, a large box, candles, pens and even a skull. Cullen, Leliana and Josephine were standing behind the table and Fenris was on this side, leaning on the table with both hands as he glared down at some of the markers on the Orlais side of things. Behind the three advisors were three large standards that were obviously meant to represent them and their areas of speciality.

“Well, I’m here,” Hawke said, ambling over to stand beside Fenris. “We can start the party now.”

Cullen rolled his eyes while Leliana and Josephine both smothered sudden smiles. Fenris ignored him and glared at Orlais for a moment longer before straightening up.

“What happened with Stroud?” Fenris asked without any preamble.

Hawke felt his automatic reaction to authority rear its head and he quickly squelched it. Fenris looked frustrated and the last thing he wanted to do was aggravate his lover any further.

“We were looking into some problems with the Wardens,” Hawke said. He snorted. “I got the impression he wasn’t exactly telling me everything but what he would tell me was that there was… trouble. Something that had prompted him to make a very quick exit from where he was and has the Wardens actively searching for him.”

“We cannot find them,” Leliana said. “Warden Blackwall was the only one we could find and he doesn’t know what’s happened with them either.”

“Stroud didn’t know either,” Hawke said. “He knew they’d all buggered off somewhere but not where. We were checking through his list of possible places when I came here.”

“Do you know where he would be now?” Leliana asked.

Hawke nodded. “More or less. He and Carver were going to continue on after I left.”

“Carver?” Fenris said sharply. “You called him back?”

Hawke grimaced and nodded. “He’s the only one I could really ask to take my place. I don’t like the idea of putting him anywhere near all this mess but…” He smiled ruefully. “As he told me very bluntly, he’s a big boy now.”

“Can you contact them?” Cullen asked. “We need a better idea of what’s going on.”

Hawke nodded. “I was going to do that when I got here anyway. Carver needs to know about Corypheus at the very least.”

“The Inquisitor has told us of your… encounter with him,” Josephine said delicately.

Hawke’s expression darkened. “That’s one way of putting it. He’s supposed to be dead. He _was_ dead. You couldn’t get any deader than he was. Fenris had put a great big hole in his chest. That’s _really_ dead.”

“What was he doing in a Warden prison?” Cullen asked.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Hawke said dryly. He shook his head. “Look, let me get a letter to Stroud and Carver and make arrangements to meet somewhere. We can get answers from them then.”

The advisors nodded and Josephine made a note of the decision. Hawke grimaced then cleared his throat.

“Um, there’s something else that needs to be put on the table.” He found himself the centre of attention and he glanced over at Fenris. “This came up in the course of a conversation I had with Solas and Dorian today. Long story. I’ll tell you later. Or not. But the key point is that Dorian couldn’t be entirely sure whether or not Danarius had any heirs.”

He had Fenris’ undivided and somewhat glowering attention now but he kept his attention on Leliana in particular

“If there are heirs, Dorian pointed out that they might be inclined to consider Tevinter law superior to anything and everything else and…” He licked his lips. “Danarius never actually freed Fenris. Under Tevinter law, he’d still be considered his property. Or the property of his heirs.”

The only warning they had was a snarl and then Fenris’ markings burst into blinding life. Hawke now turned his entire attention on Fenris. The elf was furious, spitting out incomprehensible curses as he glowed brightly and paced back and forth. Hawke made no attempt to touch him or even try and calm him down. He knew better. He saw movement and shot a glance at the advisors that had them staying where they were and remaining silent.

Finally Fenris stopped swearing and his glowing of his markings faded into nothing. Only now did Hawke step forward and place a hand on Fenris’ shoulder. He felt his lover tense under his touch for a moment then he turned and rested his forehead on Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke curled an arm around Fenris’ shoulders and simply held him.

“It will never end, will it?” Fenris said in a bare murmur.

“Did Danarius have any relatives?” Hawke asked. He could feel the slight tremor that was running through Fenris’ body though he said nothing about it.

Fenris was silent for a moment then he nodded. “Yes. A cousin, I believe. Much younger than him. He used to call Danarius ‘Uncle’ but Danarius did not have siblings.”

“I have some contacts in Tevinter,” Josephine said, picking her words with care. “Not many but some. I can have them… _persuade_ this cousin that attempting anything against the Inquisitor would be foolhardy at best.”

Hawke smiled slightly. “I like that. Persuade. It sounds so pointed.”

“Pointed is what _I_ do,” Leliana said sweetly and the undercurrents of that tone made Hawke’s eyes widen just a little. He suddenly had no desire to get on the Spymaster’s bad side.

“Let them try,” Cullen said bluntly. “There’s not a soldier in the Inquisition who wouldn’t cut them down in a heartbeat if they tried anything.”

Hawke felt Fenris go still against him then he raised his head and stepped away. He gave the advisors a nod then said very grimly, “Let them come. They shall receive the same fate as their predecessors.”

Hawke grinned at the advisors. “It’s quite something to watch him shove his hand through someone’s chest. Gruesome but… something.”

Josephine gave him a slightly disapproving look. “I will speak to Dorian about working through his contacts as well. For all that he claims to be a pariah, I cannot believe he does not have friends still within the Imperium. The young man, Felix, for example.”

Fenris nodded and when Hawke stepped closer, he leaned against him readily. “They were never subtle so it shouldn’t be too difficult to identify them if they come.” He looked up at Hawke. “How did this come up?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Hawke said, running one hand along Fenris’ back. “It’s nothing to do with the Inquisition but you ought to know what we’re up to. It’s something Solas said he promised you.”

Fenris frowned then he recalled a conversation from Haven, one that would certainly explain why Solas, Hawke and Dorian would be working together. He nodded and set the matter aside.

“Who did you tell about this?”

Hawke grinned. “The Iron Bull. Ben-Hassrath are tricky but they’re good. He seems even better than Tallis.” Fenris snorted and Hawke grinned. He knew Fenris had not liked Tallis one bit. “But he says he’s going to tell the rest of your… Inner Circle?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “The name was not my idea.”

“It’s convenient,” Leliana said. “But that’s a good idea. The more people watching, the better.”

Fenris looked down and shook his head. “I suppose I should get used to this.”

The advisors looked confused but Hawke just chuckled.

“I’d have hoped after all these years, you’d be at least a little used to it already.” He drew Fenris close and smiled when he was allowed to do so. “I know you can look after yourself but let us help.”

Fenris leaned into Hawke for a moment then pushed him away with an exasperated look that was belied by the fondness in his eyes.

“If you insist.”

“I really, really do,” Hawke said. He peered at the map then leaned on the table to look closer. “So apart from all that, what else can I do to help?” He glanced over at Fenris. “Going to let me come with you?”

Fenris paused then he smirked a little. “Only if I can bring Cassandra and Varric as well.”

Hawke looked confused but Cullen, Leliana and Josephine all smothered smiles and laughter.

“Someone want to let me in on the joke?”

“Cassandra’s a bit of a fan,” Leliana said, her eyes alight with mischief. “And Varric can rile her up like no other.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow and thought about that for a moment. “Deal.”

Cullen looked amused. “Inquisitor, it might be a good idea to take a slightly larger party than normal for the time being. At least until we clear up this problem with Danarius’ heir and what they intend to do.”

“As soon as I know where we’re going, I’ll do that,” Fenris said with a nod.

“I feel like that comment was aimed at me,” Hawke said, trying his best to act innocent. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“You are the one who knows how to contact Stroud and Carver,” Fenris said dryly. “So yes.”

Hawke pretended to sigh heavily. “I’m so put upon.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Of course you are.”

Hawke laughed. “So, are you done for the day?”

Fenris sighed. “Not even close.” He looked up at the advisors who were waiting patiently. “Why are we saving Orlais again?”

“It’s seems the politically expedient thing to do,” Josephine said with amused reproval. “Many of their nobles are helping to fund the Inquisition.”

Fenris grunted. “Of course.”

Hawke wrapped an arm around Fenris’ waist and drew him gently to him. Fenris gave a little resistance at first but it was only for show as he came willingly enough.

“Hawke,” Fenris said with a raised eyebrow.

Hawke kissed him, lightly at first, then when he responded, he deepened it. Fenris returned the kiss with some enthusiasm then he placed both hands on Hawke’s chest and gave him a light shove.

“Idiot. I am trying to work,” he said. The fondness in his tone completely overrode the words.

Hawke grinned and headed for the door. “Yes, yes, I know when I’m not wanted.”

He heard Cullen’s very dry, “That’s a first” as the door closed behind him and burst out laughing as he went to find pen and paper to write to his brother and Stroud.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good lord. Has it really been over a month since I updated? Nanowrimo is a time suck, people. However it is also a wonderful encouragement to write but not edit so now that I've had time to edit, you're getting four chapters. *throws confetti*
> 
> So, this chapter - they toddle off to Crestwood and solve the problem of that rift in the lake. Afterwards there are some discussions, gossip and chatter. This is a bit of an interlude chapter that sets up a few things for later on.

Fenris wasn’t sure he liked Crestwood very much. It was cold, wet and stank of mould, mildew and corpses. For once, he was glad that the cold in Haven and Skyhold had forced him to wear boots. There were far worse things than fish bits on the ground here. He’d stepped in any number of things over the years without too much in the way of complaint but he was actually willing to draw a line with what they faced in Crestwood.

In fact, no one in the group he’d brought with him was very happy to be here. Cassandra looked resigned, Varric was grumbling about the effects of the damp on Bianca and Dorian had made his distaste very plain. Only Hawke and Fenris had endured and that was only because they’d faced worse. Possibly. 

Though after having descended underground into the old abandoned thaig to face more demons, Crestwood had to rank quite highly on his list of places he’d rather not go to again. From the look on Hawke and Varric’s faces they agreed, though he suspected it was for a different reason. Fenris had been in two minds about missing the Tethras brothers’ Deep Roads expedition back when he’d first met them both and even now he still couldn’t decide whether he wished he’d been there or not. But this ended far better than that trip, with the rift closed and the village saved from the endless onslaught of undead.

By the time they had returned to the surface, gotten back to Crestwood and found the mayor missing, Fenris deemed it too late to continue on to the cave where Stroud and Carver were supposed to be waiting for them. The villagers offered them the use of an abandoned house for the night but they elected to take the short trip up the road to the keep. Charter set them up in rooms and they even had the use of a common room, which they happily gathered in after their meal. 

Cassandra had brought out her sword and was working on repairing the leather on the hilt. Varric had papers scattered around him and was scribbling down assorted notes. Dorian was alternately trying to look over Varric’s shoulder and repairing the blade on his staff. Hawke had brought out some work to do but in the end, he had drawn Fenris close to him to lounge between his legs and they were simply sitting together and enjoying each other’s company.

As they sat and watched the others, Hawke picked up Fenris’ left hand and looked down at the mark in his palm. Today was the first time he’d seen it in action and he was still a little stunned by what it could do.

“That’s a hell of a thing,” he said quietly. “Does it hurt when you use it?”

Fenris shrugged. “Some. No worse than my markings have hurt in the past. It was worse before Solas was able to separate them.”

Hawke rested his chin on Fenris’ shoulder and frowned. “How does it work? I mean, how do you use it to close the rifts?”

“I have no idea,” Fenris said with a snort. “It’s less of a process and more of a feeling.” His mouth twisted sourly. “Magic.”

Hawke chuckled. “Not everything magic is bad, love. I’m pretty amazing after all.”

“Maybe,” Fenris said, though there was a small smile playing on his lips. “Except when you are getting us into trouble.”

“I don’t get us into trouble,” Hawke protested. When both Fenris and Varric snorted in unison, he grinned. “Well, I _try_ not to get us into trouble. I’ll admit I don’t always succeed.”

“Hawke, you’ve gotten us into more trouble on your own than all the rest of us combined,” Varric said with a grin.

“And you loved it.” Hawke laughed. “It all made such great fodder for your books.”

“That’s true,” Varric said. “And that’s not including the Tale of the Champion.”

“I think Donnic likes how he’s portrayed in Hard in Hightown,” Hawke said. “He never actually says so outright but when the book is discussed, he does get rather smug.”

“I did make him look pretty amazing so I’d hope he likes it,” Varric said with a grin.

“You wrote about your friends?” Cassandra said a little dubiously. “Did they know?”

“No but we weren’t surprised,” Hawke replied and Fenris snorted with amusement. “Besides it was Isabela writing the naughty friend fiction.”

“As I recall, you liked that,” Fenris said very, very dryly.

Hawke smirked. “It was very inspiring. You can’t say you never read it. You kept complaining she never got the colour of your underwear right in them.”

“This keeps getting better and better,” Dorian said with a grin as Cassandra’s cheeks became stained with pink and Varric grinned at them. 

Fenris elbowed Hawke. “You know very well why she never got the colour of my underwear right.”

Hawke’s grin was absolutely filthy and the others took one look at it and started laughing. They didn’t need an explanation. That grin told them everything they needed to know without having to ask.

Fenris couldn’t recall ever wearing underwear and the reason for that wasn’t a good one. It wasn’t something that he’d ever told Hawke and if his lover had guessed, he’d never said anything. But Isabela’s continual teasing and Hawke’s reaction every time he slid his hand down Fenris’ breeches to find him bare underneath had done a great deal to allow him to file the bad memories away. 

Just as he was thinking that, he felt a hand snake down the back of his breeches and squeeze his buttocks.

“Fenhedis!” he yelped, shifting just enough to glare as Hawke who looked back at him with a particularly unrepentant grin. There were chuckles around the room as the others realised what had happened. “Why did I bring you along again?”

“My winning personality,” Hawke replied, pulling his hand out of Fenris’ breeches. “And devastating skill.”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed. “Have you been spending time with Dorian?”

Hawke looked over at the Tevinter mage with surprise then he laughed. “Well, well. No, I haven’t but I think I ought to.”

“Maker help us all,” Varric muttered.

Fenris settled back against Hawke with satisfaction. He had been aware of the general attitude towards Dorian, partly prompted by his own reactions, but if Hawke decided that Dorian was one of his then he knew the attitude would change fairly quickly. Hawke was idolised far too much by the people at Skyhold for that to not happen.

The conversation swirled a bit after that and Fenris soon became aware that Cassandra was shooting little glances at he and Hawke. He waited until she did it again and arched an eyebrow at her. He was a little surprised when her expression became pensive, as though she was deciding whether or not to speak. He wasn’t surprised when she made up her mind and then spoke.

“You know that I was originally searching for Hawke to become the Inquisitor?”

Fenris nodded and he felt Hawke go very still behind him. “I do.”

“While I would have spared you being lumbered with the anchor, I am nonetheless pleased that you are our Inquisitor,” she said with a small nod in his direction. “I could ask for no better.”

Fenris didn’t know what to say. His elevation to Herald had been an accident and he’d lead because he’d had no choice. He’d accepted the role of Inquisitor because again he’d known he had little choice. He had the anchor and Corypheus would always target him. 

“I have to say I agree,” Hawke said softly when it became obvious that Fenris was genuinely flustered. “I’d have made some different decisions but from everything I saw when I was on my way to Skyhold, you’ve done an amazing job, love. The Inquisition’s people follow you out of loyalty and respect. They care about you. You make a good leader.”

“I did not want the job,” Fenris growled, feeling unsettled and uncertain.

Hawke chuckled. “And I didn’t want to be named Champion. We don’t often have a choice about that sort of thing but we can choose how we deal with it and what we do with the responsibility.”

“You don’t like that I conscripted the mages,” Fenris said flatly.

Hawke prevaricated for a moment. “Well… it’s not the decision I would have made but you know I understand and respect your opinions about mages, even if I don’t exactly agree with all of them.” He smiled wryly. “Besides I met one of the mages and her Templar companion on the way here. She was a lot more pragmatic about the whole thing than I expected and…” He snickered. “And they were kind of besotted with each other.”

“Enchanter Lorelai and Ser Theo,” Varric said with a grin. “They’re very inspiring. Templar and mage overcoming their differences and succumbing to love.”

“Are you writing a book about them?” Hawke asked.

Varric looked sideways. “I… might have included them in a story or two.”

“Do they know?” Fenris asked dryly.

“They will once the book comes out.”

Hawke laughed then settled again. “But back to what I was saying. It wasn’t the decision I would have made but it seems to be working. Sometimes there is no right or wrong decision.”

“I did not wish to punish them since it was Fiona who made the decision,” Fenris said slowly. “But many supported that decision and they enslaved themselves to a Tevinter Magister who…”

“Has lost his way,” Dorian said with a sigh. “You know, I never thanked you for the decision you made regarding Alexius, Inquisitor. Research was always what he loved the most and before his wife died and Felix… became ill, he was never like this.”

“How did Felix become ill?” Fenris asked. He’d had time to consider the young man since the events in Redcliffe and he had realised that Felix’s illness seemed familiar but not like one he’d actually seen.

“He and his mother were attacked by Darkspawn,” Dorian said sadly. “His mother died and Felix was…”

“Blighted,” Hawke and Fenris said flatly then Fenris continued. “I thought his illness seemed familiar when I’d had time to think about it. I’ve never seen a Blighted person before.”

“I have,” Hawke said grimly then he looked over at Dorian. “Where is this Felix now?”

Dorian frowned. “He went back to Tevinter. Why?”

“There is a way,” Hawke said bluntly. “It’s not a cure and I have no idea whether it’d work after so long but…”

“How?” Dorian leaned forward, looking stunned. “Alexius could find nothing and nor could I.”

“You become a Grey Warden,” Hawke explained. “My brother Carver was Blighted when we went into that Thaig where we found the red lyrium idol. Anders was with us and he knew where there were some Grey Wardens scouting that part of the Deep Roads. That’s how I met Stroud. He was the leader of the Warden group. He agreed to take Carver and put him through the Joining.”

Dorian looked eager. “And it cured the Blight?”

Hawke waggled his hand. “For a given definition of cured. Surviving the Joining is no guarantee and even if Felix did survive it, he’d be a Grey Warden for life. Which wouldn’t be for as long as you might hope.”

“He’d be alive,” Dorian said, swallowing hard. “That’s a damn sight better than what he faces now.”

Hawke nodded. “You have a point. Alright. I’ll speak to Stroud after we get the business side of things done tomorrow. If he agrees, we’ll try and get Felix back here in time.”

“The Inquisition could help with that,” Fenris said and Cassandra nodded her agreement.

“You’d do that?” Dorian asked, his eyes wide. “For a Tevinter mage?”

Fenris arched an eyebrow. “He seemed like a decent man. He was willing to betray his father to do the right thing. It would be a shame to let him die.”

“Awww, Fenris,” Hawke joked, kissing his lover’s cheek. “Is that some personal growth I see there?”

Fenris held up his hand and let the markings on it flare white. “Do not think I won’t shove this through your chest, Hawke.”

The expressions on Cassandra and Dorian’s faces indicated that they were trying to work out whether Fenris was serious but Varric just chortled at them, well used to their antics.

“Don’t worry,” he said to the other two. “They do this all the time. It’s their version of sweet talk.”

“That was not in your book,” Cassandra said dryly.

“You’ve read Tale of the Champion?” Hawke asked.

Cassandra actually blushed at the question and everyone looked at her with surprise.

“Her copy has a bloody great knife hole in it,” Varric grumbled, though from the look in his eyes, he wasn’t anywhere near as put out as he sounded. “And since it was sitting in my lap when she did that, my privates nearly had a bloody great knife hole in them as well.”

Hawke howled with laughter, his glee directed at both Varric and Cassandra. “Oh ho! How did I not hear of this before?”

“It was part of that whole thing that I told you to stay away from Kirkwall for,” Varric said dryly.

“You told him to stay away?” Cassandra said, turning a gimlet glare on him.

“Of course I did,” Varric said with a snort. “All we heard was that Chantry forces were coming and after everything that happened and with Hawke a mage, why should I have trusted the Chantry? Meredith had called for the Right of Annulment. How did I know you weren’t coming to carry that out?”

“I am a Seeker of Truth,” Cassandra said, sounding offended.

“I didn’t know that at the time,” Varric replied. “Anyway, you wanted to know what happened so I told you.”

Cassandra snorted. “You lied. Repeatedly.”

“I lie a lot,” Varric said with exasperation. “That doesn’t make you any different.”

“ _Enough_!”

They all looked over at Fenris who was still relaxed in Hawke’s embrace though his expression was somewhere between exasperated, irritated and faintly amused.

“It’s done,” he said firmly. “As entertaining as the arguments usually are, this is one I would prefer not to hear again.”

Cassandra and Varric subsided, both looking faintly embarrassed. Dorian cleared his throat and stood. 

“On that note,” he said. “I think I’m going to seek my bed.”

“Yeah, after today I could do with some sleep,” Varric said.

Cassandra nodded her agreement and the three of them left the common room. Hawke watched them go then pressed a kiss to Fenris’ temple.

“Alright, what was that all about?”

“Cassandra wanted you as Inquisitor.”

“Yeah, that’s been mentioned before,” Hawke said carefully. “So?”

Fenris shifted so that he was kneeling, facing Hawke. He glared at his lover. “Can you honestly say you would have refused her if she’d put her plea to you?” 

Hawke opened his mouth to reply then shut it again. He sighed. “I… don’t know.”

Fenris snorted. “You would have said yes and you would have been at the Conclave.”

“Ah,” Hawke said. He reached out and with gentle touches and caresses, he coaxed Fenris back into his arms. He knew better than to try and force him to do anything right now, even with the best and sweetest of intentions. “You don’t know that I would have been killed. I may not even have been there. Cassandra obviously wasn’t.”

“And what then?”

Now Hawke drew Fenris close and relaxed when the elf let him. “No. We’re not doing this, Fenris. We could spend the rest of our lives saying what if, what if, what if. It _didn’t happen_.” He took Fenris’ marked hand in his own. “I’m not sure I like what _did_ happen anyway.”

“I survived,” Fenris grumbled.

Hawke gave a soft laugh then he ran his thumb over the mark in Fenris’ palm. “Yeah, you did but at what cost?”

Fenris pulled his hand away gently. “Now who is playing what if?”

Hawke wrapped his arms around his lover and buried his face in Fenris’ white hair. “You know,” he said, his voice a little muffled. “We made a promise to each other in the Gallows. We haven’t been doing a very good job of keeping to it.”

“You started it,” Fenris said grumpily. “You left first.”

Hawke gave a huff of a laugh. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

Fenris growled under his breath and in a lightning move, he twisted around and straddled Hawke’s legs. He darted forward and captured Hawke’s mouth in a fierce, wanting kiss, his hands burying themselves in his hair.

“Take me to bed, Garrett,” he growled.

Hawke drew in a breath. Fenris rarely used his first name and it was a hell of a turn on every time he did. Fenris knew it too. Which is why he used as sparingly as he did. He wrapped his arms around Fenris’ waist and scrambled to his feet. He leaned in and kissed him as they stumbled towards their bedroom.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet with Stroud and Carver. There is bickering between the brothers (surprise, surprise) and Stroud reveals what he knows. There is also a glimmer of hope of Felix.

The next morning when they left the keep, the sun was actually out and the bickering of the previous night had been left behind in the darkness. The walk towards the cave was almost pleasant, interrupted only by a few bandits. They saw the rift in the distance but Fenris deemed it less important than the meeting. 

“That’s it,” Hawke said, pointing towards the cave they were approaching.

They made their way inside and along the tunnel. It ended in a wooden wall and door. Hawke opened the door and lead them in.

“Carver? Stroud?”

Carver stepped out from behind a stone outcropping. “Damn it, brother. Are you ever going to learn to be subtle?”

“We weren’t followed,” Hawke said with exasperation as Stroud stepped into sight on the other side of the cave and headed over to Fenris, one hand outstretched.

“Inquisitor Fenris,” Stroud said firmly, derailing the incipient argument between the brothers. “I’m pleased to meet you. I am Warden Stroud.”

“Warden,” Fenris said, shaking the man’s hand though he didn’t lose his wary expression. “I gather Hawke has told you of who we face?”

Stroud nodded. “Corypheus. This is ill news and yet it gives us the shape of things.”

“You know of Corypheus?” Hawke said with a frown.

“Only a little,” Stroud admitted. “He was a secret even to many of the senior Wardens but after your defeat of him, I began looking into the matter. Archdemons can survive wounds that appear fatal and I feared Corypheus might be the same. However I could find little in the way of hard information, only hints and suggestions. That however is not the full extent of the problem.”

“The missing Wardens,” Hawke said. “You found them?”

Stroud nodded. “We did and it is as I feared.” He bowed his head for a moment then raised it again. “Somehow Corypheus is putting a false Calling into the minds of the Wardens.”

“What is this Calling?” Fenris asked.

“And why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Hawke added.

“It was Warden business and not something often spoken of to those who are not Wardens,” Stroud replied. “The benefit of becoming a Warden is the ability to end a Blight but it also comes with a price. At some point, each Warden hears the Calling and knows the end has come and the Blight is about to claim them. It starts with dreams and then voices. The Warden then says their farewells and seeks the Deep Roads to die in combat.”

Hawke stared at his brother in horror but Carver just rolled his eyes.

“Andraste’s tits, Garrett, I was _dying_ in case you’d forgotten that little point,” he said with irritation. 

“Enough,” Stroud barked and both Carver and Hawke jumped.

“Corypheus is producing this Calling,” Fenris mused, ignoring the bickering between Hawke and his brother. He’d heard enough of it in the past to know that it wasn’t terribly serious right now. “So the Grey Wardens all think they’re dying?”

“Yes, on both counts,” Stroud said. “The reports of Corypheus’ effects on the Carta dwarves makes it likely he is responsible for this.” He shook his head. “If the Wardens fall, who will stand against the next Blight? It is the Wardens’ great fear.”

“So this false Calling has the Wardens running scared,” Hawke said with a sigh.

Fenris crossed his arms over his chest. “Has Corypheus instigated a real Calling in all the Wardens or is he just mimicking it?”

“I know not,” Stroud said. “Nor do I think it truly matters. The Wardens _believe_ it to be a true Calling and they will act accordingly.”

“Is it affecting you?”

Stroud nodded. “Sadly, yes. It is insidious and it lurks in the back of the mind like a wolf in the shadows around a campfire.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Carver. The younger Hawke just snorted.

“Yes, I hear it. That’s why I knew something was wrong. I haven’t been a Warden long enough to hear the Calling.”

“How is this possible?” Fenris asked.

“I do not know,” Stroud said. “Corypheus is both a Darkspawn and a Magister and speaks with the voice of the Blight. Wardens are tied to the Blight and thus we are vulnerable to him.”

“So the Wardens think they’re dying and intend to go down fighting,” Fenris said dryly.

Stroud looked frustrated and started pacing back and forth. “We are the only ones who can slay an Archdemon. Without us, the next Blight will consume the world.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Warden Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before we all perished. When I protested the plan as madness, my own comrades turned on me.”

“Which is when you came to me,” Hawke said flatly.

“Yes,” Stroud replied. “I needed your help to discover where they had gone.” He sighed and inclined his head towards Hawke. “I would have told you the truth before too much longer, Hawke. I had hoped that… my fears were wrong.” He pointed towards a table at the back of the cave. “The Wardens are gathering here in the Western Approach. It is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower. Carver and I will make our way there. Meet us and we will find the answers as to what the Wardens have planned.”

Fenris nodded then joined the Warden to ask questions about Clarel. Hawke made a beeline towards his brother.

“Carver…”

The younger man rolled his eyes. “Don’t start, brother.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Hawke said with a huff.

“Something trite about being careful, I’d guess.”

Hawke hesitated. “Well… yes.”

Carver rolled his eyes again. “We’ll do what we have to do but we’re not going to charge into anything before you and Fenris get there.” He glanced over at the elf and his stance softened a little. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s… good,” Hawke said. “I mean, he’d probably rather someone else was Inquisitor and had that mark thing but…” He glanced over at Fenris himself then grinned. “He’s… a leader, Carver. He really is. And he’s good at it.”

“Better than you?” Carer said a little snidely.

“Probably,” Hawke said with a shrug. “He’s made some decisions I wouldn’t have but they’re… well, I can’t argue with them as much as I might prefer.”

“We heard he conscripted the mages,” Carver said.

Hawke nodded. “Yeah. I’m not sure I like that but I wasn’t there. And a mage I met said they’d pretty much brought it on themselves. And between him and Cullen, they’re making sure no one mistreats the mages. So, I don’t like the decision but I can’t protest against it really.”

“Cullen?” Carver said with surprise and some interest. “He’s there?”

Hawke nodded and tried not to roll his eyes. He knew Carver had been halfway interested in joining the Templars when they’d been in Kirkwall to the point where he’d actually spoken to the Knight-Captain a time or two. It had only been a lingering sense of familial loyalty and the fact that they’d had the trip into the Deep Roads ahead of them that had stopped him. And after the Deep Roads, well, things had changed. Still, Hawke had often suspected that if he’d acceded to their mother’s wishes and left Carver behind, he might have come home to find his little brother in Templar armour. Which would have been decidedly awkward.

“He’s the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces,” he said.

Carver’s eyes widened. “That’s… that’s good. Nice to know there’s someone sensible there.”

“You and Fenris,” Hawke said with a shake of his head. “Still, apparently he’s changed. I’ll have to go and pester him when we get back and find out how much.”

“Or you could leave him alone,” Carver said dryly.

Hawke grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Carver’s response was lost when Fenris appeared beside Hawke. The elf looked grim and Dorian, Varric and Cassandra were already heading for the entrance to the cave. Stroud was clearly waiting for Carver.

“Carver,” Fenris said with a nod.

Carver gave a nod in reply. “Fenris. Looks like Stroud wants to get going. I’ll see you in the Western Approach. Hopefully we’ll have more time to catch up after that.”

Fenris nodded and Carver hurried off to join the senior Warden. They headed out and Fenris arched an eyebrow at his lover.

“You did not punch each other,” he said dryly. “You’re improving.”

“Ha, ha,” Hawke said with a wry grin. “We’re not that bad.” He laughed at Fenris’ sceptical expression and threw an arm around his shoulders. They headed for the entrance to join the rest of their party. “Well, maybe we are. I guess Carver’s finally growing up.”

Fenris snorted and shook his head. “Or you both are.”

Hawke chuckled then raised an eyebrow. “So what now?”

“Close that rift, find Charter’s lost agent, head back to deal with that spirit,” Fenris said with an edge of distaste. He hadn’t liked dealing with the spirit in the first place however it had been imperious but harmless and Cassandra had not seen any harm in indulging it. In fact, she’d felt that it might be the only way it would return to the Fade without having to kill it. “Then back to Skyhold and on to the Western Approach.”

“Maybe find those bodies the Chantry sister wanted?” Hawke suggested as they joined the others and headed for the outside.

“Why not?” Fenris said dryly. “We will be in the right area.”

“Wait,” Hawke said. “Did you ask about Felix?”

“I did,” Fenris replied. “Stroud was noncommittal. He said to get the man back here and he’ll make a decision after we’ve been to the Western Approach.”

Hawke grimaced. “I suppose that’s fair. He wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the idea when it was Carver.”

“Let us see if Felix survives the trip back,” Fenris said. “If he does, we can work on convincing Stroud at that time.” 

They headed back out into the sun and set the issue of the Wardens aside for the moment. There was little they could do until they could go to the Western Approach and there were things to do here.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Western Approach. Fenris stews over gullible southerners and trouble ensues. Big trouble.
> 
>  
> 
> Note: I'm not going to be doing 'Fenris knows every Tevinter In Inquisition' but let's face it, Erimond is definitely the type to have been buds with Danarius. Slimy prick that he is. 
> 
> Additional Note: There are some implications about what happened to Fenris in this. Just implications though. Nothing explicit.

Fenris lead his group away from the Tevinter ritual tower in the Western Approach with a look of disgust very firmly plastered on his face. He didn’t know why everyone in the south was so _gullible_ when it came to Tevinter Magisters but it had happened again. This time with a Magister Fenris knew and it was the sly, snide, _insinuating_ comments Erimond had made during their confrontation that had him setting such a fierce pace as he stalked towards the nearest Inquisition camp. He was in no mood to answer questions about what had been said and he could almost feel the curiosity radiating off the others. Only Hawke was matching his pace and only Hawke didn’t seem inclined to ask questions. But then, only Hawke had a fair idea of how bad things had been when he was a slave and what those sly insinuating comments meant. That those comments were meant to remind him of what had happened and were not just an empty taunt or a threat.

He’d brought a larger group with him this time since he hadn’t know quite what they were facing and now he was regretting it or at least regretting his choices. The last time he’d glanced over his shoulder, the expression on Bull’s face had told him that the Ben-Hassrath agent had probably figured out what those comments meant, Solas had _definitely_ known based on the very, very dangerous look lurking in his eyes and from the scowl on Varric’s face, he’d been able to put two and two together as well. Only Blackwall seemed oblivious but Fenris wasn’t willing to bet on that being the case. Blackwall might be a bit rough around the edges but he wasn’t stupid.

He was so caught up in his angry, frustrated and mortified thoughts that he didn’t see the people moving towards them until Bull suddenly yelled out, “Boss! Look out!”

Solas reacted first, throwing a barrier over Fenris that deflected the spell that had been aimed directly at him. Fenris’ lyrium markings flared white and he disappeared into his ghost state. As he did, about a dozen men burst out of cover and started to attack. Everyone fell very quickly into a familiar rhythm. Solas, Hawke and Varric dropped back and provided barriers and ranged attacks. Blackwall charged straight into the middle, his shield raised and drawing as much attention as he could, while Bull and Fenris started to take them apart from either side.

However, it soon became obvious to the others that these men had orders and were intent on manoeuvring things so that they could carry them out. They were doing their best to isolate Fenris and after a series of brutal attacks against Blackwall that forced the Warden back, they managed to achieve their aim. That was when a thin man seemed to materialise out of nowhere right behind Fenris and hit him hard over the head.

Fenris went down immediately, crumpling into a heap on the ground, his sword slipping from his hand. The thin man moved instantly, hauling the limp body of the Inquisitor over his shoulder. But even as he did, he gave a short cry as three crossbow bolts embedded themselves into his thigh. Fenris slid from his grasp and hit the ground again. Blackwall immediately _slammed_ his shield into the face of his nearest opponent and grabbed Fenris by the back of his armour, dragging him a few precious inches away from the thin man. Almost simultaneously, as though he’d read Blackwall’s mind and knew exactly what he was going to do, the Iron Bull launched himself into the air in a mighty leap and with a wild, furious war cry, he brought his massive axe down on the thin man, splitting him almost in two lengthways.

Bull stepped forward so that he was standing over the unconscious elf and growled at the remaining attackers. There was a heartbeat of hesitation and then they broke and ran.

Hawke ran forward, his eyes glued on his lover and panic on his face, and Bull quickly moved out of the way, taking a defensive position nearby after he picked up Fenris’ sword. He stood there with both sword and axe, one in each hand, and looked very much like he could easily use them just like that. Blackwall joined the huge Qunari while Varric sent crossbow bolts flying after the retreating attackers. Solas joined Hawke and the two mages made a quick assessment.

“He is simply unconscious,” Solas said quietly. “His skull is not fractured or broken.”

He knew Hawke already knew that but the man seemed relieved to hear it confirmed anyway. Hawke gathered Fenris into his arms and lifted him up.

“Let’s get to the damn camp.”

The others gathered around him still in their defensive positions and they hurried towards the camp. Once there, Hawke disappeared into one of the tents with Fenris. Solas followed but emerged shortly afterwards and joined the others as they sat nearby.

“There is little we can do until he wakes,” the elven mage said.

“But he’ll wake?” Blackwall asked.

Solas nodded. “He will undoubtedly have a dreadful headache and possibly concussion but little more.”

“Fucking slavers,” Bull grumbled, his anger still obvious.

“They were slavers?” Blackwall said. “Not bounty hunters?”

Bull nodded. “You didn’t see what the skinny one had on his belt?”

“ _I_ did,” Varric said, his eyes full of anger. “A collar.”

“Slavers carry them,” Bull grunted. “Bounty hunters don’t need them.”

“Then we can safely assume Danarius’ heir is taking action,” Solas said. The others were all watching him with a little bit of wariness. The elven mage still looked calm but the anger that was radiating off him was startling in its intensity.

Bulls’ eye narrowed. “The question is… is he doing this on his own or have the Venatori gotten into his ear?”

“I’d be surprised if they haven’t,” Blackwall said with a snort. “They’re probably helping to pay for the slavers.”

“It would certainly be convenient for them to have the Inquisitor taken out of the equation in such a way that would utterly distract the Inquisition,” Solas observed in a low dangerous voice.

“I’m pretty sure Cullen would fucking _invade_ Tevinter if they took the Boss,” Bull said in a low rumble.

“Which proves my point,” Blackwall said. 

Bull looked amused. “Like you wouldn’t be in the vanguard.”

“Of course I would.” Blackwall got to his feet and stretched. “I’m going to take a look around and see if I can find where these people are hiding. Anyone else?”

“I’ll come with you,” Solas said. 

Bull and Varric exchanged glances then Varric nodded. “Bull and I will stay here, just in case.”

They watched as the Warden and the elven mage disappeared out of sight behind the large rock formations around the camp then Varric rested Bianca across his lap and shifted so that he was looking out from the camp. Bull mirrored him with his sword, taking the other direction. They both knew they didn’t need to given how alert the soldiers in the camp were after seeing their Herald brought in unconscious but they were too keyed up to relax right now.

Inside the tent, Hawke sat cross-legged next to the bedroll on which Fenris was lying. He had already stripped Fenris out of his armour and boots, leaving him in breeches and a thin shirt, and now he simply sat there with one hand resting lightly on his lover’s shoulder while he propped his forehead in the other hand and tried to keep his panic at bay. It wasn’t the fact that Fenris had been hurt that had him so shaken. He didn’t _like_ that Fenris had been hurt but it wasn’t the first time and surely wouldn’t be the last. The elf was a warrior and always in the thick of the battle. Getting hurt occasionally was something of a given.

But Hawke had seen what the thin man had on his belt. He’d _seen_ the collar _and_ the curled up length of leather next to it that can only have been a leash. He knew what that meant. Fenris had a recurring nightmare about the confrontation they’d had with Danarius where instead of standing up for him, Hawke had callously given him back. The first time it had happened when they’d been in bed together, he honestly wasn’t sure who had been more affected. Fenris by the nightmare or Hawke by the whole idea of it. He’d fallen over himself to reassure Fenris he would never have done that. _Never_. Until Fenris had finally silenced him with a kiss and the barest of smiles and told him he knew that.

That nightmare had decreased in frequency since they’d killed Danarius and renewed their relationship but this… was not going to help matters. He wasn’t sure if Fenris had seen what the man had carried, most likely not given how he’d been attacked from behind, but he knew he was going to have to tell him. And he knew that ending up as a slave again was the one true horror that Fenris still carried with him.

“Hawke?”

The pained rough whisper yanked him out of his tumultuous thoughts and he looked down at Fenris with wide eyes.

“Fenris!” He smiled with sheer relief. “How do you feel?”

Fenris grumbled. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, he hit you pretty hard.” Hawke reached for the vial of healing potion he’d set aside earlier. “Do you think you can drink this?”

Fenris grunted an affirmative and held out his hand. Hawke gave him the vial and helped him sit up so that he could drink it. Once Fenris had drained the contents of the vial, Hawke set it aside and shuffled around so that he was acting as a backstop for his lover.

“What’s wrong?” Fenris said. He leaned back into Hawke’s embrace despite knowing it was a prelude to some sort of news he wasn’t going to like. “Is everyone else…?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Hawke said hastily. “They didn’t want _us_ , they wanted _you_.”

Fenris was silent for a moment then he snarled. “Danarius’ cousin.”

“Yeah, looks like he grew some balls,” Hawke said. “Or paid someone.” He paused and grimaced. “Fenris… one of them… the one that attacked you… he had a collar and leash on his belt.”

He felt his lover stiffen and he loosened his embrace. It wouldn’t be a good idea to let Fenris get up right now but he knew better than to try and restrain the elf when he was angry or feeling panicky. But then Fenris let out a shuddering breath and clearly forced himself to relax.

“Is he dead?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Very,” Hawke replied. “I think Bull cut him in half.”

“Good.”

Hawke hesitated for a moment. “Fenris…”

“ _What_?” Fenris snapped and now he struggled to his feet before he wavered and went down to one knee, clutching at his head with a whine of pain.

“Fenris, love, come on,” Hawke said soothingly, brushing his fingers through his lover’s hair as he coaxed him back to where he’d been leaning against him. “That’s it. Just relax. Let the potion work.”

Fenris sat stiffly, breathing hard and trembling, then he made a low noise of something akin to anguish and turned, curling into Hawke and burying his face in his neck. Hawke didn’t say a word, he just held Fenris tightly and rested his chin on top of his lover’s head.

“He is not going to take you,” Hawke promised, a fervent edge to his voice. “I will not let him. _We_ will not let him.”

“Hawke… I cannot…” Fenris’ made a broken sound and his hand fisted in Hawke’s shirt. “I cannot go back. I cannot… not after… this… you… _everything_. I would… I would rather be dead.”

Hawke swallowed past the lump in his throat as he pressed kisses into Fenris’ hair. He knew that his lover hated showing this much vulnerability and it would be so much worse if they weren’t alone. But he was glad that he was doing so. That Fenris trusted him enough to show him this.

“He is _not_ going to take you,” Hawke growled. “We are going back to Skyhold and then we are going to deal with this, even if we have to send Leliana herself into Tevinter to assassinate the man personally.” He paused and if his smile was grim and malicious then there was no one else to see it. “Or I could just tell all our friends. How long do you think it’ll take Aveline to personally invade Tevinter and introduce this idiot to her blade?”

When he heard the faint breath of a laugh from the elf in his arms, he could have cheered. 

“Send her. And Cassandra. And Cullen,” Fenris murmured. “Tevinter would be flattened in a day.”

“Sounds good to me,” Hawke replied. He slid his fingers under Fenris’ chin and tilted his head up. The look of muted bone-deep weariness in his lover’s eyes made his breath catch and he could hear Fenris’ words from more than one occasion – _It will never end, will it?_ – and vowed that it _would_ end this time, no matter what it took. Despite all of that, he managed a small smile. “Hi.”

He saw that familiar and beloved look of fond exasperation wash across Fenris’ face. “Idiot,” the elf whispered, the feelings he struggled so hard to say so obvious in his voice.

“Your idiot,” Hawke replied.

Fenris shifted he was less curled into Hawke as now leaning against him again. “Yes.”

They simply sat there for a while as Fenris let the potion do its work and Hawke just revelled in the fact that Fenris was alive and here and everything else could wait. Finally there came a scratch at the door and Bull’s low, “Boss?”

Fenris sighed and reluctantly pulled away from Hawke. “Yes?”

“Got something you and Hawke should hear.”

Fenris sighed. “Very well. Give me a minute.”

“Sure, boss.”

Fenris slowly clambered to his feet and swayed for a moment as his head throbbed. Hawke steadied him and they headed outside. Fenris squinted in the sun and cursed under his breath.

“How’s the head?” Hawke asked, trying not to hover and failing miserably.

“It hurts,” Fenris grumbled. 

“Any double vision? Nausea?”

“No. Stop fussing,” Fenris growled as he made his way over to where the others were sitting.

Varric snorted. “Fussing is what Hawke does best, Broody. You should know that.”

“Hey!” Hawke protested then he shrugged comically. “Alright. Yes, I fuss. Shoot me.”

Varric raised Bianca with a grin. “Don’t tempt me.”

The byplay had its intended effect. The tense atmosphere lifted and after Fenris had sat down, he looked up at Hawke.

“Idiot. Sit down.”

Hawke grinned and ensconced himself as Fenris’ backrest again. The others watched with barely concealed amusement, having begun to realise just how much of an endearment that ‘idiot’ was when it came from Fenris and was directed at Hawke.

Fenris looked over at Bull. “Well?”

They could see how much Fenris was wincing and there was an unspoken agreement to make this as quick as possible.

“Solas and I tracked those bastards back to their camp,” Backwall said without preamble. “They were a bit disorganised so we took advantage of that.”

“I can’t believe I missed out on the fun,” Bull grumbled. “You could have come and got me.”

“You were doing something important,” Blackwall said, raising one eyebrow.

“They were mercenaries,” Solas said, overriding Bull’s response. “Hired from Markham in the Free Marches by the Tevinter slaver. They had been told they were hunting down a dangerous criminal. They had no idea that you are the Inquisitor and their employer was a slaver.” Solas’ voice turned very dry. “They were most eager to talk once they were apprised of that information.”

“Not that they knew much,” Blackwall grumbled. “The slaver wasn’t inclined to share too much information but he did mention that there were other groups out there, though they didn’t know how many.”

“Red’ll be able to find them,” Bull said with a decisive nod.

“And what has become of these mercenaries?” Fenris asked.

“We let them go,” Solas replied serenely. “We suggested that they spread the word that accepting contracts from Tevinter slavers would not be good for the long term health of any mercenaries who did so.”

Blackwall chuckled. “They got the point pretty quickly.”

“Was that wise?” Varric asked. “Letting them go?”

“They were already packing very hurriedly when we got there. I think they saw what happened to their employer and weren’t eager to be next in line,” Blackwall said dryly.

Varric snorted. “I didn’t know you _could_ actually cut someone in half like that, even with an axe that big. That was both impressive and mildly terrifying, Tiny.”

“Only mildly?” Bull said with a grin. “I’ll have to work on that.”

“So what now?” Blackwall asked.

“The Inquisitor should get some more rest,” Solas said firmly.

“I’m fine,” Fenris snapped.

Hawke nuzzled into his hair. “No, you’re not. I can tell you’re still hurting.”

Fenris scowled. “Hawke…”

“Love, just for once can you rest without arguing,” Hawke said quietly. “You need it and I… I had to watch a fucking slaver nearly grab you right under my own nose. Frankly, I’d just like to take the excuse to cuddle up with you for a little while.”

“Hawke…”

“ _Please_?”

Fenris sighed and nodded. “Very well. I will rest. Tomorrow we will head back to Skyhold.”

The others nodded and Fenris got to his feet. In truth, he didn’t argue as much as he might have because the unrelenting sun and heat of the Western Approach was making his eyes and his head hurt. He headed back to the tent and gave a sigh of relief when he got into the dim light inside. Hawke had followed him and he could almost _feel_ his lover’s piercing gaze at the sound of the sigh.

“Alright. How bad is the head?”

“I can endure,” Fenris said, sitting down on the bedroll again.

“I know but…” Hawke hesitated and licked his lips. “Will you let me heal you?” He held up his hands. “I know, I know, there’s not much I can do about the headache but I can get the muscles in your neck and shoulders to relax and that’ll help.”

Fenris was very still as he weighed that question in his mind. He was still wary of magic, probably always would be, but this was _Hawke_ asking, not anyone else. He very tentatively nodded his head. “Yes.”

Hawke smiled, looking quietly pleased. He patted the bedroll. “Take off your shirt and lie down on your front. Might as well combine this with a massage. You know you like _that_.”

Fenris tried to hide his eagerness at that suggestion. Hawke was right. He _did_ like the massages that Hawke was all too willing to offer. He’d never been on the receiving end of one before Hawke’s first offer. He’d _seen_ them given to Danarius and Hadriana and others but he’d never experienced one himself. He’d been uncertain and dubious when Hawke had first offered but the combination of Hawke’s hands on his skin and the sheer relief of having tense muscles relaxed had turned him into jelly. He’d surprised himself by enjoying that almost as much as he’d enjoyed Hawke’s quiet pleasure at being able to have that effect on him.

Still he pretended to grumble and complain as he pulled off his shirt and lay down. He sighed though when Hawke straddled his thighs and began to work on the muscles in his back. As his hands slid up to his shoulders and the back of his neck, he could feel the first tingles of Hawke’s healing magic. He closed his eyes and forced himself to stay limp and not tense up at the feel of the magic. It was difficult but he was rewarded by the way the muscles in his shoulders began to unwind. As they did, the lingering headache from the blow to the head also began to subside.

“How’s that, love?” Hawke asked, leaning forward to kiss between his shoulders.

Fenris hummed lazily, drawing a chuckle from his lover.

“Just relax, love, and let go.”

Fenris managed half a nod and at some point, with Hawke still working on the muscles of his back, he fell asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They return to Skyhold and there is a short debriefing before Hawke and Fenris take some time for themselves. Afterwards, Fenris and Dorian talk and Dorian has a brainwave.
> 
> Aaaaand this is the chapter that prompted the increase in rating to E. :D

Their return to Skyhold was not the usual relaxed, even happy, occasion that it normally was. Though they had not seen any further signs of slavers or mercenaries, they been tense the whole trip back and Fenris had chafed regularly at the protective gestures of the others. They had been unrepentant though and when he’d complained, Hawke had thrown more than a few puppy eyes in his direction that he’d had annoyingly little resistance to. When they finally rode in through the gates of Skyhold, Josephine, Cullen and Leliana took one look at the tension in the group and suggested they adjourn to the War Room immediately instead of waiting.

Fenris nodded tersely and lead the way, Hawke on his heels. Once the doors of the war room had closed behind them, Cullen was the first to speak.

“What happened?”

“We were attacked,” Fenris said but he was interrupted by Hawke before he could say any more.

“ _You_ were attacked.”

Fenris scowled at him. “Mercenaries. Hired by a Tevinter slaver.”

Just like that, the mood in the room changed, becoming tense and angry. Hawke seemed satisfied by that but Fenris scowled.

“Have Stroud and Carver arrived?”

“Not yet, Inquisitor,” Cullen said tersely, clearly dismissing that as irrelevant for the moment. “How many were in this group? Did you get any further information?”

“One slaver, about a dozen mercenaries,” Hawke said, ignoring Fenris’ scowl. “The slaver’s dead. Bull just about cut him in two. Blackwall and Solas tracked the mercenaries and got a little bit out of them. They didn’t know much, just that there are more groups like theirs. One slaver with a group of mercenaries.”

Leliana gave a nod. “I’ll get word out to my people and to yours, Cullen. We’ll see if we can’t track down these groups and neutralise them.”

“The slaver,” Fenris said firmly. “Blackwall and Solas said the mercenaries didn’t know what they’d really been hired for. Kill the slaver and let the mercenaries know they’ve been lied to.”

Josephine smiled. It was a startlingly scary sight and the only real indication of how angry she was right now. “That’s an excellent idea. The slavers will find it harder to hire mercenaries once word gets out that they’re lying. They’ll have to lower their standards or even hire bandits and those people won’t be as good.”

“In the meantime, I think it’s time to press matters with Danarius’ heir,” Leliana said. “Inquisitor, I don’t suppose you remember his name?”

Fenris shook his head. “He didn’t visit often, though I believe they corresponded by letter quite frequently. When he was visiting, it was one of the few occasions that Danarius had me on the sidelines. Why, I don’t know.”

“Never mind then,” Leliana said. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out. I’ll speak to Dorian and see if he’ll allow me to contact his friends directly.”

“Ah, yes, Inquisitor, speaking of Dorian’s friends,” Josephine said, tapping her pen against her board. “Felix Alexius should be arriving within the week. We sent the Chargers to meet his ship and escort him the rest of the way.” She paused and frowned. “Lieutenant Aclassi reports that Felix is most unwell.”

Fenris winced and felt Hawke’s hand rest momentarily against his back. “The timing is going to be tight.”

“Wesley was pretty far gone but Flemeth still felt he could have been helped by the Joining,” Hawke said. “It’s not without hope.”

Fenris nodded. “Could you let Dorian know when Felix is going to arrive, Josephine?”

“I’ll do it,” Cullen said then he blushed a little. “Uh, I mean… I’m meeting him later for… for chess.”

Josephine’s eyes glinted with amusement and Leliana was clearly hiding an impish smile and the atmosphere in the room lightened immediately. Hawke looked at the two women then looked at the way Cullen was blushing and grinned.

“For _chess_ , eh?” he said, his grin widening into something wicked. “First time I’ve heard it called that.”

Cullen’s blush deepened and he spluttered for a moment. “I… it’s just _chess_. The game. It’s… we’re not…” He sighed and looked put upon. “Maker’s breath.”

Hawke laughed and moved around the table to clap Cullen on the shoulder. “You make it too easy, Cullen.”

The Commander gave Hawke a half-hearted glare though Fenris felt he wasn’t too upset. 

“I think that’s enough for now,” Leliana said, still looking amused. “We’ve dealt with the important things. What remains can wait until after the Inquisitor had rested.”

“Let me know when you get word of Stroud and Carver’s arrival,” Fenris said even as he headed for the door. After the tension-filled trip back from the Western Approach, he wanted to spend some time somewhere safe where he could wind down and relax.

Hawke hurried to catch up with him and they made their way up to Fenris’ rooms in silence. Once there, Fenris began to strip out of his armour with a sigh of relief. It was one of the more obvious ways being part of the Inquisition had changed him and while sometimes it unsettled him, now was not one of those times. He’d been happy to continue wearing the same armour endlessly when he’d been in Kirkwall but now he appreciated being able to get out of his armour.

Not least because there was always a bathtub full of hot water every time he returned, first in Haven and now in Skyhold. It had taken him a while to get used to these luxuries and even longer to get used to having servants look after him. He’d never really liked having Bodahn and particularly Orana serve him when he’d stayed at Hawke’s home but he’d spoken to the servants here enough to know that they were there willingly. They’d _chosen_ to come and serve the Inquisition because they felt the job was important, even if all they could do was make sure people were fed and things were kept clean. It had been a jarring example of the difference between a willing servant and his own past as a slave. He had still felt a lingering discomfort though until he’d spoken to Josephine and discovered that the Inquisition paid very well indeed.

He removed the last of his clothing and stretched upwards, relieved to get the weight of his sword off his shoulders. As he stretched, he heard Hawke come up behind him and then there were arms wrapping around his waist and chest and a warm, hairy, naked body pressed up against his own. He let out a sigh as he lowered his arms. He let his head fall back onto Hawke’s shoulder as one hand reached back to wrap around the back of the man’s neck. He shivered at the feel of Hawke’s lips on his neck and shoulder and tilted his head to allow him better access.

“So beautiful,” Hawke murmured against the skin at the crook of his neck and Fenris sighed in response.

It had taken him a long time to learn to accept this sort of affection from Hawke. For far too long it had made him nervous and tense, wondering when the tide would turn, when Hawke’s hands would turn hard and grasping, when he would start to _take_ instead of asking to be given. But as day after day had passed and Hawke had never _taken_ , had always asked, had always ensured that Fenris was willing and wanted what was being asked of him, he had slowly come to enjoy this and to trust that this was nothing more than what it was – a time to relax and simply enjoy each other’s company.

Hawke’s hands began to drift over his chest and stomach in soft gentle caresses as he continued to mouth kisses along Fenris’ shoulder. Fenris drifted along with the sensations for a little while but then the continued caresses began to have an effect. He could feel himself start to harden as a slow arousal began to build and he could feel Hawke’s equivalent response in the small of his back, a throbbing heat that fed his own arousal even more.

“Garrett,” he murmured, a ghost of a smile wafting across his face when he heard Hawke’s quick indrawn breath.

He knew how much Hawke liked it when he used his given name. He didn’t use it often and rarely outside their bedroom. He didn’t quite know why but he felt it was… intimate, using Hawke’s name.

He reluctantly pulled away from his lover. He didn’t really want to break the languid mood but he wanted a bath. He didn’t look back as he walked over to the bathtub but he did stop beside it and wait expectantly. He smiled when he heard Hawke climbing in with a hiss and a muttered curse at how hot the water was. Fenris then climbed in and once again relaxed into Hawke’s embrace.

Hawke’s hands began those slow, gentle caresses again and Fenris let them lull him back into that languid mood. It was only when Hawke’s hand drifted down to brush against his erection that he made a move. He caught hold of Hawke’s wrist and halted him.

“Not here.”

Hawke nodded and kissed his shoulder, pulling his hand away without protest. He reached for the soap and with long slow strokes, he began to wash them both. There was a time when Fenris would have protested this, insisted he could do this for himself, not wanting to demean Hawke by turning him into some sort of bath slave. But Hawke had insisted time and again that he enjoyed doing this, that he considered it a gift that Fenris would trust him enough to let him do this. So now he let himself relax into Hawke’s touch, his arousal simmering pleasantly as Hawke finished cleaning them both.

They climbed out of the bathtub by mutual accord and dried themselves off quickly. Fenris tossed his towel on the floor next to the tub and walked over to the bed. He lay down and sighed with relief. He was truly getting soft when he found himself getting sore and aching from sleeping on a bedroll on the ground. Back in Tevinter and even in Kirkwall, he could have and indeed sometimes had slept on a pile of rocks or standing up, now he welcomed an actual bed. He opened his eyes and looked around to find Hawke still standing near the tub, staring at him with open naked desire and want.

“Garrett, come here.”

Hawke let his towel drop and walked over to the bed. He looked down at Fenris then he climbed onto the bed and sprawled on his side next to his lover.

“What do you want?” Hawke asked quietly as though he wasn’t as hard and aroused as Fenris was.

Fenris’ lips quirked into a small smile. Hawke never failed to ask that question. He never assumed. He had done once. Only once. Caught up in the moment, he’d moved too fast and panic had flared up in Fenris’ chest, lighting up his markings and causing him to phase out briefly. Once had been more than enough. They didn’t always get caught up in this kind of languid mood. In fact, it was more often heated and wanton between them but no matter how passionate it got, Hawke _never_ failed to ask what Fenris wanted.

“I want you in me,” Fenris said in a low growl that he knew Hawke liked and he smiled as Hawke’s eyes darkened with desire.

Hawke leaned in and they kissed. It started out slow and soft, an exploration and an affirmation, but it quickly turned heated and Fenris pulled Hawke on top of him. Their hips slotted together with the ease of long practise and Fenris arched up into his lover with a low groan.

“So fucking gorgeous, love,” Hawke murmured, nipping at the elf’s neck. “Want you so much. Always have, always will.”

Fenris pulled Hawke into a demanding, biting kiss and bucked up hard against him. He couldn’t bring himself to beg. He never could, not even with Hawke. That was one thing that he just _couldn’t_ do. Too many memories of begging for all the wrong reasons, begging for it to stop, for the pain to end, for the markings to be left alone. Until now even begging for something good was something he could not do. Hawke had figured that out quickly and while he didn’t let it stop him from teasing, he never asked for Fenris to beg and he never let it go so long that Fenris was forced to do so.

Hawke knew what he was asking for though and he pulled away from the kiss to grope at the small chest tucked under the bed. He yanked it out and flipped open the lid, pulling out a small vial of oil. He leaned in to kiss Fenris again then he sat back on his heels and thumbed open the vial. He spilled some of the oil on his fingers and leaned forward to kiss his lover again as he ran his fingers down Fenris’ cock, over his sac and along the crease of his arse, letting his fingers run over his hole again and again.

He didn’t tease any more than that and slowly slid one finger inside. Fenris arched back with a cry and pressed against the intrusion, wanting more. Hawke gave it to him, sliding a second finger in and slowly stretching him. He then added a third finger and leaned over Fenris, his hair flopping into his eyes and he stared down at the vision beneath him.

“Gonna make you feel so good, Fenris,” he gasped. “Gonna make it so good.”

“Now,” Fenris growled. He would not beg but he would demand.

Hawke drew in a sharp breath and withdrew his fingers. He quickly slicked his cock and positioned the head at the entrance of Fenris’ hole and pressed in. By the time he was fully seated, they were both gasping and moaning and Fenris’ fingers were digging into Hawke’s shoulders hard enough that they both knew there would be marks there tomorrow.

Fenris wrapped his legs around Hawke’s hips. “Move!”

Hawke drew back and thrust back in, drawing a cry of pure pleasure from Fenris as he hit the spot he was looking for on the first try. He braced himself and continued his thrusts, making sure to keep the angle right, making sure the pleasure was shared. Fenris writhed underneath him, his markings flaring unconsciously as he lost himself to his arousal and the sensations Hawke was creating within him. Finally, when he could see that Fenris was getting close, Hawke shifted so that his weight was resting on one arm and snaked his hand between their bodies until he could wrap it around Fenris’ cock. His lover shouted his name and then something in Tevene and spilled over. His arse tightened around Hawke’s cock and after another few thrusts, he was coming as well. He buried his face in Fenris’ neck as his hips bucked involuntarily and then they both stilled.

Hawke slowly pulled out as Fenris untangled his legs from around his hips and he finally collapsed half to the side and half on top of Fenris. He got a low chuckle from his lover for that and Fenris wrapped his arms around him, one hand rising to run through his hair. Hawke hummed his approval at that and pressed kisses to whatever skin he could reach.

“Was good?” he slurred.

“Very good,” came Fenris’ reply in the lazy sated tones that Hawke adored because he knew he was the cause of them.

“Love you.” Hawke nuzzled against Fenris’ shoulder. “So much.”

Fenris shivered, knowing Hawke would feel it but also knowing he would understand. It had taken him a long time to believe those words, long enough that he had no idea how Hawke had been so patient with him. By all rights, he should have walked out long ago. But he hadn’t and he had kept saying those words so patiently and calmly and with such earnestness until Fenris had _believed_ them, believed that Hawke _meant_ them. But it never failed to send that shiver of wonder through him when Hawke said them.

“I… I love you,” he said. 

He hated that he found those words so hard to say. He could say it in other ways, as he had in the Gallows. He could find it easy to say ‘I am yours’, a phrase that should have been far more loaded, far more difficult to say than anything else given his background. And yet, there it was. It was somehow far easier for him to say ‘I am yours’ or ‘I cannot bear to live without you’ than it was to simply say ‘I love you’. It was maddening.

Hawke had propped his chin in his shoulder and he was smiling goofily at him. Fenris pretended to scowl and shoved at his head.

“Your beard scratches.”

Hawke chuckled and rubbed his beard against Fenris’ shoulder until he’d drawn an actual laugh out his lover.

“Idiot,” Fenris said fondly.

“I love you too,” Hawke said, that goofy grin plastered on his face again.

Hawke clambered out of bed to retrieve one of the towels and clean them both up. Then he climbed back into the bed and they shifted until they were lying on their side, wrapped around each other. Fenris tucked his face into Hawke’s neck and let the last of the tension from the events in the Western Approach drain out of him. As he did, sleep claimed him and the last thing he heard was Hawke’s low chuckle.

He woke a few hours later, a quick look out the windows telling him it was probably late afternoon. He eased his way out of Hawke’s arms, smiling a little at the man’s garbled mumble of protest. Hawke curled into the warmth where he had been lying and Fenris ran one hand through his lover’s hair briefly before he got dressed and headed downstairs.

He made his way through the hall, nodding occasionally to the nobles he passed. This was something he still wasn’t comfortable with and doubted he ever would be. Not that he thought the nobles were any more pleased than he was. A strange Tevinter elf who was a former slave as the Inquisitor was probably stretching their ability to grasp and accept as it was. He was definitely not looking forward the ball in Halamshiral if the reactions of some of the nobles who came here was anything to go by.

He gave a nod to Varric and Solas as he made his way up to the library where he found Dorian sitting at the table nearest his little niche, writing something.

“Dorian,” he said as he sat down opposite the Altus mage.

“Inquisitor,” Dorian said in reply. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until dinner.”

“I don’t sleep that much,” Fenris replied. He arched an eyebrow and looked faintly amused. “How was your chess game?”

Dorian smirked, his eyes alight with mischief. “Frustrating. Cullen is a very good chess player.”

Fenris snorted. “I don’t think I want to ask anything more.”

“Alas, I wish there were more to tell,” Dorian said then he sobered. “He did tell me a condensed version of what happened in the Approach and Solas and Varric filled in the rest. I’ve given Josephine the name of the contact I believe will be the most useful but I’m afraid I burned a number of bridges when I left Tevinter.” He arched an eyebrow. “I did suggest that she also speak to Krem.”

“Krem is soporati,” Fenris said.

“I know but he may have some contacts who can help.” Dorian shrugged. “Anything is worth trying.”

Fenris shrugged. “True.” He paced for a moment then stilled. “Is there a way, short of killing him, to get Danarius’ cousin to back off?”

Dorian looked uncomfortable but didn’t hesitate to answer. “We could convince him to free you but it doesn’t look like he’s inclined to do that.” He stopped and looked thoughtful. “Actually… hmm, that’s odd.”

“What’s odd?”

“The timing.” Dorian frowned and rattled his fingers against the table. “It’s a long way from Tevinter to the Western Approach and it hasn’t been _that_ long since you were named Inquisitor. I _suppose_ messages could have been sent and people hired in that time but it seems unlikely.”

“You’re saying the cousin isn’t behind this?” Fenris said, looking dubious.

“He could be but I do wonder,” Dorian replied. “This could be a diversion. Hire slavers to try and kidnap you and we’d immediately think of Tevinter and whoever is in your past. Varric would have told us if Hawke wasn’t here. We start diverting our resources towards Tevinter while you’re taken to wherever Corypheus is.” He cocked his head. “Did Corypheus recognise you at Haven?”

Fenris nodded. “He did. He made several references to the encounter we had in the old Warden prison.” He drew in a breath. “He could have put this in motion immediately. It took us time to travel here and then there was the delay while we made the place habitable before I was named Inquisitor. The timing works better. And he’d know we’re likely to end up in the Western Approach so he could have had people there already.”

“Precisely.” Dorian stood. “I think I might go and have a small word to the lovely Josephine and the terrifying Leliana. I think we’re looking in the wrong direction.” He arched an eyebrow. “In fact, if the cousin isn’t involved, he may even be willing to help to avoid having his name dragged into scandal as being the man who killed the Inquisitor.”

Fenris snorted. “He’s a Magister. Would he care?”

“Hard to say,” Dorian said with a rueful look. “I suppose it depends on which side of the fence he’s sitting on but I’m in the mood to be optimistic.”

“At least someone is,” Fenris grumbled.

Dorian chuckled. “Why don’t you go and curl up with that huge bear of a man of yours and let us do the running around? The art of being Inquisitor is knowing when to delegate.”

Fenris snorted then smiled a little. “Who says you don’t have any good ideas?”

He turned to go and heard Dorian’s laugh. “Whoever it is, is terribly wrong.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hello. Yes, I am still writing this. The Christmas/New Year period turned out to not be a very good time for writing.
> 
> So, in this chapter, there is dinner and conversation. Stroud is Stroud, Carver has some new fangs, Hawke is an ass and Josephine and Leliana are protective. Oh, and is that a cliffhanger I see there? Ooops. Sorry. >:)

The arrival of Stroud and Carver was a quiet affair. The two Wardens slipped into the stronghold just before sunset and were settled into their rooms by Josephine. A private dinner was hastily organised in Fenris’ rooms with Hawke, Cullen, Leliana and Josephine in attendance as well. When the Wardens arrived, Carver looked around with appreciation and whistled. 

“Nice, Fenris. Makes a change from that house in Kirkwall. Did you ever clean up those corpses?”

Fenris looked amused at the reactions of his advisors to that titbit of information and took the wine glass Hawke held out to him.

“No. They were effective at keeping busybodies at bay.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Hawke said dryly.

“What were you able to find out?” Fenris said to Stroud.

Stroud accepted the glass of wine he was offered with a nod of thanks. “It was as we thought, Inquisitor. The Wardens have retreated to Adamant Fortress.”

“You didn’t go in?” Fenris asked.

Stroud shook his head. “I am too well known. I thought of sending Carver in but I was concerned he would not be able to get out again.”

“I told you I could sneak out,” Carver said with a roll of his eyes.

“You always got caught whenever you tried to sneak out,” Hawke said with a grin.

Carver snorted. “So did you.”

“Yeah, Bethany was the only one of us who was ever able to sneak out successfully,” Hawke said wistfully.

Carver looked down into his glass then he snorted again. “We both covered for her, that’s why, but we wouldn’t cover for each other and Bethany was a terrible liar.”

The brothers exchanged looks that were full of fond reminiscence and Fenris wasn’t the only one watching with interest. Hawke and Carver usually rubbed each other the wrong way just by breathing but every now and then they managed to reach each other.

Stroud shot a fond look at Carver, whom he had clearly taken under his wing, then he looked over at Fenris. “Now, tell me of this Tevinter lad.”

Fenris waited until they’d all sat down and served themselves before he replied. “Felix Alexius. He’s the son of Gereon Alexius, who was stirring up trouble in Redcliffe with the mages. Felix helped us against his father.”

“He was willing to do that?” Stroud said with interest.

Fenris nodded. “He was very concerned about what his father was doing.” He snorted and his expression became very cynical. “I see no great surprise in a Magister causing that sort of chaos but both Felix and Dorian assure me this is out of character for Alexius. That he has always been a decent man.”

“You didn’t know him?” Hawke asked.

Fenris shook his head. “The name is vaguely familiar but he wasn’t one of Danarius’ cronies or even someone he was currying favour from.”

“What changed this Alexius?” Stroud asked.

“According to Dorian? His wife being killed by Darkspawn and his son being Blighted.”

Stroud frowned. “How long has it been since this happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Fenris replied. “You’d have to ask Dorian or wait until Felix arrives but I got the impression it was several years.”

Stroud and Carver exchanged glances and they both shifted in their seats.

“What is it?” Josephine asked.

“The Blight hits hard and usually fast,” Stroud said. “There have been no studies done on it for obvious reasons but the Wardens collect as much anecdotal evidence as we can. The longest we have heard of anyone who is not a Warden surviving the Blight is a few months. “

“Anyone who is not a Warden?” Cullen said with a frown.

“I cannot go into details but technically every Warden has a very slow version of the Blight,” Stroud explained. “A version that takes three or four decades to reach a point of no return. For non-Wardens that point is generally reached in days or weeks, though it occurring within hours is not unknown.”

“So Felix’s survival for years is unusual,” Leliana said with a nod. “I had thought so but Elissa and Alistair never spoke much about being Wardens in my hearing, just what they needed to do as Wardens.”

“It is likely they did not know much at the time,” Stroud replied. “They were both very new Wardens at the time and from what I understand, Duncan never had the chance to explain much to them before he was killed at Ostagar.”

“You should speak to Alexius and Dorian about what they did,” Fenris said. “Alexius is… assisting the Inquisition and Leliana can make arrangements for you to speak to him.”

Stroud arched an eyebrow. “You did not execute him?”

“I was tempted,” Fenris said dryly. “I did not particularly enjoy what happened in Redcliffe. But...” He grimaced. “I understand desperation. I understand despair. And I understand how both of those things can lead you to making bad decisions.”

Hawke saw the slightly pained look in Fenris’ eyes and realised what he was talking about. The Fog Warriors and what he had done to them when Danarius had appeared again. He knew he was the only one at the table who would know that but from the looks on the faces of the others, they had all been in situations that gave them some sort of understanding.

“That was generous of you nonetheless,” Stroud replied. “I shall speak with him. I know that Warden Cousland seeks a cure for the Calling and any information that we can find to aid her search would be valuable.”

The conversation drifted into other subjects after that, most notably into a discussion of Adamant and the best kind of tactics to use for the upcoming assault and the ball at Halamshiral and Josephine’s search for a way for the Inquisition to be invited. An offhand comment resulted in telling Carver mostly, though Stroud was interested, about the problem of Danarius’ heir and whether or not he was trying to reclaim Fenris and the younger Hawke was suitably angry and indignant.

“We’re currently pursuing two lines of investigation,” Leliana said soothingly. “We’re hoping to have more information in the next few days.” She arched an eyebrow. “Given some of the information is coming from one of Dorian’s friends, it may well arrive with Felix.”

“Have you told the others?” Carver said almost belligerently. Neither Fenris nor Hawke took offence. They knew the younger man well enough to know the belligerence came from concern. 

“No,” Fenris replied. “The only ones I would trust with the information are Aveline and Varric. Varric is already here and knows and Aveline has enough to do as it is.”

“What about Isabela?” Carver asked.

Fenris snorted. “She’d probably make things worse. Or better. I’m not sure.”

Hawke grinned. “She’d certainly distract him.” He shrugged. “But we don’t know if it is him. If it’s Corypheus then distracting Danarius’ nephew won’t help matters.”

“I’d certainly like more information or even to resolve the matter before we go to Halamshiral,” Josephine said, looking worried. “It’s the sort of thing the Orlesian nobles might try and use to their advantage and I suspect none of us would like the results of that.”

Fenris scowled and Hawke recognised the hunch of his shoulders. It was the same way he’d held himself when they’d gone to Chateau Haine. Then he scowled himself when he remembered how Fenris had been treated by the Orlesian nobles. Then he remembered what they’d done in an alcove of the garden during the party and he snickered.

Fenris looked over at him and Hawke waggled his eyebrows. “Chateau Haine,” was all he said and Fenris actually blushed, drawing curious, amused and startled looks from the others. 

Carver rolled his eyes as he realised what his brother’s expression must mean. “Oh, that’s right. You two can’t keep it in your pants anywhere,” he said with the long-suffering air of younger brothers everywhere.

“At least I have a reason to take it out of my pants,” Hawke replied then he smirked. “We could always invite Merrill here. She’d like to see you again.”

Carver suddenly went a particularly fetching shade of crimson and glared at his brother.

“If you two could have your argument _after_ dinner, I’d appreciate it,” Fenris said dryly, heading the incipient argument off at the pass. “And I’m sure inviting the exiled Elven _blood mage_ to the Inquisition would be such an excellent idea.”

Hawke paused. “Yeah, I always forget Merrill’s a blood mage.” He grinned at the others. “She’s kind of like a killer bunny rabbit. All cute and fluffy then she turns around and pulls out the blood magic.”

Fenris frowned into his wine as he recalled a conversation he’d had with Solas about magic in general and blood magic in particular. The elven mage hadn’t seemed too fussed about blood magic, considering it little more than a tool albeit a tool that is easily misused. Unfortunately Fenris had seen it misused far too much to really believe Solas’ assertions that it wasn’t that bad.

“I confess I have read the Tale of the Champion,” Josephine said with a raised eyebrow. “Varric glossed over that aspect of the mage Merrill a little.”

Hawke chuckled. “Yeah, he’s like that. Pointing out Merrill’s a blood mage doesn’t make for a good story. Showing that she’s cute and adorable and a bit scatter-brained sounds much better. He was writing a story, not a history book.”

“Have you read it, Commander?” Stroud asked.

Cullen sighed. “I have. Thankfully Varric doesn’t make me out to be too much of a complete arse.” He smiled ruefully. “I… wasn’t in a very good place in Kirkwall and Meredith encouraged my poor behaviour.”

Hawke’s gaze sharpened as he looked at Cullen. “I wouldn’t mind getting the story from you one of these days. Because you sure as hell have come a long way from ‘mages can’t be treated as people’ and I guess I’d like to know why.”

Cullen winced and his shoulders slumped. Both Josephine and Leliana immediately glared at Hawke and Fenris smirked a little at their protectiveness. For all that they teased Cullen relentlessly, he’d easily recognised it as the kind of friendly teasing that Hawke and Varric were so adept at and that his three advisors had a close bond.

“I suppose I owe you that much at least,” Cullen said heavily.

“No, you don’t,” Carver snapped. “You don’t owe my brother anything, Commander. If you say you were in a bad place, that you had a reason for that and that you’ve moved past that now then that should damn well be good enough for everyone, including Garrett.”

Cullen looked at Carver with surprise but the younger Hawke was glaring at his brother, who was returning the glare with interest. Fenris could see the argument that was about to spill over and he cleared his throat.

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Josephine said with a sweet firm politeness that was actually very dangerous. Everyone in the room seemed to recognise that.

“You may ask, Hawke.” Fenris arched an eyebrow. “And Cullen, you may answer or not as you choose. You are not obligated to do so.”

“Fenris…” Hawke began.

“No.” Fenris made a sharp gesture with one hand. “I trust Cullen. Is my judgement not good enough for you?”

Hawke actually rocked back in his chair as he stared at Fenris with wide eyes. While he’d seen Fenris act as _the Inquisitor_ before, this was really the first time it had been entirely directed at him. It was a sharp reminder that he wasn’t in charge here and this wasn’t a situation like in Kirkwall. If he wanted to buck against the authority, it would be _Fenris_ he’d be rebelling against and if he couldn’t trust Fenris, who then could he trust?

“I… yes, of course,” he said softly. “You know it is.” He sighed then looked over at the Inquisition’s Commander. “I apologise, Cullen. That was rude of me. If, one day, you are willing to tell me what happened then I’d appreciate it. But only if you’re willing.”

Cullen looked a little flustered but he nodded. Leliana leaned over and murmured something in his ear and the Commander smiled and chuckled softly then he shook his head. Leliana smiled back at him and patted his arm.

Stroud suddenly got to his feet, breaking the slightly awkward mood that had settled in the room. “Inquisitor, I thank you for the excellent meal and the… interesting conversation, however Carver and I should get some rest.”

The others stood and various pleasantries were exchanged before they all left. The servants came in and quickly cleared the remnants of dinner as well as the table and chairs then they too left. Fenris had moved out onto one of the balconies and Hawke joined him, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist. Neither of them heard the door below open and then softly close.

“I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”

Fenris snorted and leaned back against the taller man. “I know.”

“You aren’t the slightest bit curious?”

Fenris glanced over his shoulder. “He has spoken briefly about the matter to me.”

“What?” Hawke said with surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It is not my story to tell,” Fenris replied. “He will tell you if he wishes. Or he will not. You do not have a right to every answer, Hawke.”

Hawke sighed, know Fenris was right. “That’s a terribly dull way to look at the world, Fenris.”

Fenris chuckled then changed the subject. “Your brother has grown some fangs.”

“Hasn’t he just,” Hawke said sourly.

“I like it,” Fenris said with a smirk.

Hawke was just about to reply when his head suddenly exploded with pain and as he sunk down into the dark, he heard Fenris curse and then go silent.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke comes round and rouses the hornet's nest by telling them what happened.

Hawke’s head was pounding when he slowly swam up towards consciousness and for a moment, he had no idea what had happened or even where he was. Then a cool breeze flowed over him and everything just thundered back into his mind. He sat up abruptly then grabbed at his head, groaning and swearing. He forced himself to his feet and staggered towards the stairs. The pain and disorientation sent him to his knees at one point but he got up and kept going until he burst out into the darkened main hall. 

“Serah Hawke!”

One of the soldiers on duty dashed over and caught his arm, holding him upright, his boring night or guard duty well and truly over.

“Fenris,” Hawke gasped out. “Where is he?”

The soldier frowned. “Isn’t the Inquisitor upstairs, serah? I’ve been on duty since the servants came down after your dinner. No one has come in or out until you.”

“ _Fuck_.” Hawke clutched at his head. “Someone attacked us. Fenris isn’t there.”

The soldier’s eyes widened and he suddenly started barking orders to the other soldiers in the hall. Hawke winced and let the words wash over him as his head throbbed in time with his pulse. He was guided over to Varric’s table and when he forced his eyes open, he saw Cullen striding into the hall. The Commander looked ruffled and a little strange without his armour but his stern expression was all Hawke could have wanted.

“Hawke. What happened?”

“I don’t really know,” Hawke said in pained tones. “We were just standing out on the balcony after dinner and talking then someone belted me over the head. I heard Fenris say something then I blacked out.”

“You! Go and get a healer,” Cullen barked. “You. Go and get Josephine, Leliana and Cassandra.” He paused. “Get Varric as well. Jim, go and wake up Bull. Tell him I want him and his Chargers ready in an hour.” He paused again and continued in an odd tone. “Knock first, Jim. Knock loudly.”

The soldiers ran off into the depths of the stronghold and Hawke gave Cullen an owlish look of respect… mixed with a touch of curiosity about that last bit.

“Why Bull?”

Cullen turned back to him. “The Chargers are good at this sort of thing and I trust them implicitly.”

The healer came running in just at that moment and Cullen turned Hawke over to the man. It was frustrating to not be involved in whatever Cullen was doing but right now Hawke couldn’t think straight.

“Hawke.”

Hawke tried to turn his head at the sound of Varric’s gravelly voice but the healer tsked at him and grabbed hold of his chin.

“Please stay still, Serah Hawke.”

“Someone took Fenris,” Hawke said, trying not to move.

“Shit,” Varric replied. “I was wondering what had Curly looking like he wanted to take his sword to all and sundry.”

Hawke quickly filled Varric in about what had happened then the healer caught his attention.

“Well, you have a concussion and a spectacular lump on your head but your skull is intact.”

“I’ve always been told I have a hard head,” Hawke said wanly.

“I’d advise rest but I suspect you’re not going to listen to me,” the healer said with a sigh. He turned to Varric. “I’ve done what healing I can but try and keep him sitting down and if he gets nauseous or starts to show signs of dizziness or confusion, send for me immediately.”

Varric nodded to the healer then placed a hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “You can trust Curly, Hawke.”

“Yeah,” Hawke said. He thought about getting up but a sick swoop of his stomach encouraged him to settle on watching as Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra all gathered, each showing signs of having been woken from sleep but apparently not caring one bit once they found out what had happened. Each of them spared him a glance and he scowled at the looks of pity.

When Bull came in, still strapping on his harness, Hawke forced himself to his feet. He swayed for a moment until Varric steadied him then he ploughed forward and joined the small group just as Leliana darted off.

Bull raised an eyebrow at Hawke’s unsteady condition then turned to Cullen. “What’s up, Commander?”

“The Inquisitor has been kidnapped,” Cullen said tersely. “As soon as Leliana discovers how, I want you and the Chargers to go after him.”

Anger flared in Bull’s eye for a moment then he nodded. “Got it. What are our limits?”

“None,” Cullen replied, the same anger clearly simmering away underneath his professional exterior. “Get him back by whatever means are necessary.”

Bull looked momentarily startled then approving and he gave a sketchy salute. “Will do. Am I taking Hawke with me?”

“Yes,” Hawke snapped before anyone could react. He took a deep breath and calmed himself down. “You may need me.”

That brought them all to a halt and then Cullen nodded once in understanding. Depending on what had happened, Fenris may not trust anyone else. Bull clapped Hawke gently on the shoulder.

“Right. Better come with me. Stitches has this potion. Tastes like shit but it’ll keep you going.”

“I’m coming as well,” Varric said in tones that brooked no argument.

Bull grinned. “Well, I was kind of figuring everyone in the Inner Circle was coming so you’d better let them know.”

Varric nodded and hurried off. Hawke looked over at Cullen. “You going to have a problem with that?”

“No,” Cullen said tersely. “Just get him back.”

“I can take care of the results of any… incidents,” Josephine said coolly. “I will see what allies we have that may be able to help.”

Bull hauled Hawke down to the courtyard where the Chargers had gathered, yawning and seemingly bored though Hawke could see the undercurrent of tension in them. 

“Hey, Stitches!” Bull bellowed. “Got any of that shit you use when we get belted round the head. Hawke needs it.”

Stitches nodded and rummaged in his pack for a moment. He came up with a small vial of brown liquid and brought it over. “This’ll help, Hawke. It’ll clear your head but let me know if you start to feel sick or dizzy.”

Hawke swallowed the potion and grimaced at the taste. “Andraste’s arse, that’s hideous.”

“I know,” Stitches said with a tight grin. “I could probably make it taste better but this way they only ask for it when there’s no other choice.”

Hawke felt his head start to clear though there was still a persistent ache. “I can see why.” He rubbed his forehead.

“You should be in bed though,” Stiches said.

“No,” Hawke snapped. “I’m not staying behind.”

“Easy there,” Bull said, placing a soothing hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “No one’s saying you should. Just let us look after things until we need you.”

Hawke managed a small nod and an apologetic look in Stitches’ direction. The mercenary waved it off with a small smile. As he did, the rest of Fenris’ group began to arrive. Varric was the first to get there, Bianca on his back and Hawke’s staff in his hand.

“Though you might want this,” he said, handing the staff over.

“Thanks, Varric,” Hawke said with a grimace.

Blackwall and Cassandra arrived almost simultaneously followed by Vivienne, who looked immaculate and not at all like she had been woken in the middle of the night. She had a piece of paper in her hand that she quickly read and tucked into a pouch on her belt. Dorian clearly hadn’t yet gone to bed when he arrived and he was followed by Cole and a yawning Sera. It was a few more minutes before Solas came hurrying down the stairs to join them.

“I was conducting a small experiment,” he said as soon as he got within earshot. “I believe I may be able to follow the Inquisitor’s trail if all else fails.”

“How?” Hawke demanded.

“The lyrium in his markings,” Solas replied. “I have had fairly deep contact with it and I believe I can use that to at least identify a general direction.”

“I wasn’t aware that could be done,” Dorian said with immediate interest.

“It usually can’t,” Solas replied. “Lyrium is lyrium is lyrium. There is little difference between one bit and the next. But the Inquisitor’s markings have become his own and the lyrium is slightly altered. It has a… signature to it. One that I believe I can follow.”

“Could I do the same?” Hawke asked.

Solas eyed him with interest. “Perhaps. Come, let me teach you the spell I want to use while we still have time.”

They went off to one side and began a low voiced conversation. Dorian and Vivienne joined them after a moment and they continued until Cullen came hurrying down the stairs.

“They went down through the bottom of the tower where the Inquisitor’s room is,” he reported. “It hasn’t been completely repaired as yet and it looks like they knocked through one of the walls. There’s a short tunnel that leads out underneath the west wall.”

Bull nodded. “Right. We’ll take it from here, Commander.”

Cullen nodded and watched as they headed out of the gates. Bull took Hawke, Solas and Skinner around the outside of the stronghold to where Inquisition scouts were standing at the exit. 

“Sers!” one of the scouts said with a salute. “Scout Morris. I did a little bit of looking around. The trail leads down that way.”

“What’s down there?” Bull asked.

“Rocks and dirt,” the soldier replied. “But there’s a really faint trail. I think there might have been a pathway there once long ago that been worn down by the elements.”

None of them saw Solas go still and an odd expression cross his face. “I’ll see where it goes,” he offered. They looked at him with surprise and he smiled thinly “I’m used to following ancient trails to get to the ruins I prefer. Many are little more than the faintest of lines on the ground.”

“Do that,” Bull said with a nod, clearly more than willing to take Solas at his word. “Take Hawke and Skinner with you. I’ll get the others and we’ll follow you.”

Bull jogged off and Hawke and Skinner followed after Solas as he found the path the soldier had found and started picking his way along it. As they did, Skinner marked the trail for the others.

“Morris is right,” Solas said absently. “This path is very old.”

“How did they know about it?” Hawke asked. His head was still pounding despite Stitches’ potion and he was forced to lean heavily on his staff. He did however note that Skinner was sticking close by him and he would have sighed at that but he wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to need the help at some point. Assuming she wasn’t going to stick a knife between his ribs if he got too troublesome. It was hard to tell with Skinner sometimes. “Wasn’t this place abandoned before you found it?”

“I don’t know,” Solas replied. “But just as I found the place, so too could they.”

Hawke fell silent and concentrated on where his feet were going. He supposed it didn’t really matter _how_ they’d found it, just that they had. Behind them, they could hear the sounds of the others following.

“They definitely came this way,” Solas murmured, pointing to scrapes on the surrounding rocks that were clearly new.

Hawke gave a sigh of relief that they had some actual confirmation then he yelped and staggered a little when Cole appeared next to him.

“Cole, a little warning please,” Solas said when he looked around to see what had happened.

“Sorry,” Cole said softly. “Black, blind, muffled. Arms tied tight, legs bound. Fear, frightened, not again, please not again. Can’t do this again. Hawke, find me. Please find me.”

It took a moment for the meaning behind those words to register then Hawke felt like he’d been punched in the gut. On one hand, he had confirmation that Fenris was still alive but this…

“Cole,” Solas said in gentle admonishment. “Not now.”

Cole stared at them then he nodded. “We will find him.”

Hawke swallowed and concentrated on following the elven mage. Finally Solas came to a halt just as the sun was rising and he looked intrigued and slightly apprehensive. They waited until the rest of the group had caught up and Solas pointed down an almost vertical cliff side.

“The path continues down there. I believe they took it but it is going to be slow and precarious.”

The others peered down and saw what could only charitably be called a goat track down the almost sheer slope. It _was_ a path but not one any of them faced with anything less than trepidation.

“We’ve done this sort of thing before. We rope together,” Bull said with a grim rumble. “We take it slow and careful. Better to lose a bit of time here than to lose someone entirely.”

The others nodded in agreement and Rocky and Krem pulled out a couple of lengths of rope. They looped the rope around their waists with Solas in the lead and Bull bringing up the rear to act as the anchor or so he’d put it. Hawke snagged himself a position near the front in between Blackwall and Cassandra and they began to descend down the path.

It was slow going and more than a little unnerving and before too long, most of them were drenched in sweat. There had been a few moments of panic when people’s feet slipped on the rock but they slowly began to get the hang of the descent. Despite that, it took nearly two hours to get to the bottom and when they did, they found a grisly sight. The bodies of two men in Tevinter style clothing lay smashed and bloody at the base of the slope. As soon as they were free of the rope, Cassandra and Bull went over to examine the bodies but Hawke simply leaned against the stone behind him and rubbed his forehead. 

“Here.”

He looked up to find a vial of elfroot being held out by Dorian.

“Thanks,” he said hoarsely. He took the vial and swallowed the contents. The thumping in his head eased a little, though it didn’t go away entirely.

“Slavers,” Bull said grimly.

There were a number of muttered curses and the Chargers immediately started casting around until they found the direction the slavers had gone.

“Can you tell how far behind we are?” Hawke asked.

“Several hours,” Bull replied. “The bodies are almost cold. They must have walloped you good.”

Hawke rubbed his forehead. “They did.”

Bull placed a hand on his shoulder. “My boys’ll find them, Hawke. They’re damn good.”

“I know.” Hawke sighed and gave the huge Qunari a nod. He’d faced bigger challenges than this back in Kirkwall with less in the way of resources. Here he had the entire resources of the Inquisition at his disposal and a lot of people who were very, _very_ invested in getting Fenris back. “Let’s do this.”

Bull gave him a nod and a gentle clap on the shoulder and they headed out to find out what the Chargers had discovered.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris can only feel despair at what has happened... at least until the rescue arrives. Also Vivienne is very tricky and clever.

Fenris grunted as he was jolted by the cart he was in hitting yet another pothole in the road. He’d woken up in the cart, most likely in a cage, though he couldn’t tell. He’d been blindfolded, stripped down to nothing more than his smallclothes, his arms were chained painfully behind his back and there was a collar around his neck with chains stretching out to either side, keeping him in a kneeling position in the cart. Every couple of hours they poured a potion down his throat that made him feel fuzzy and detached, obviously to stop him from using his abilities.

All he could feel through the detachment induced by the potion was despair. His nightmare had come true and worse, these people seemed prepared for any resistance he might offer. He had no idea how long it had been since he’d been snatched from Skyhold but from the easy pace and the casual chatter among his captors, they did not seem to anticipate any pursuit. He bowed his head as much as the collar and chains would allow him and tried to convince himself that Hawke would come for him but it was not a hope he could hang on to for long, especially when he didn’t know whether Hawke was even alive.

“This better be worth all the trouble we’re going to,” a gruff voice grumbled not far from the cart.

“It will,” came the reply. The second voice was slimy and unctuous. “Magister Marcinius is offering a small fortune to anyone who brings him this slave, alive and unmarred.”

“Unmarred?” Gruff complained. “You mean we can’t even have our fun with him.”

“Unmarred and untouched,” Unctuous said, the warning clear in his tone. “He’s dangerous. That is why we have taken the precautions we have.”

Gruff muttered under his breath for a while before he changed the subject. “How are we supposed to do resupply if we can’t go into the villages and towns?”

“Let me handle that,” Unctuous replied. “I can mimic the Orlesian accent well enough and I have the clothes and mask to pass as a merchant. No one will look twice at us. Besides, the disguise only has to last long enough to reach the ship.”

Gruff grunted and Unctuous continued, “Once we reach Tevinter and deliver the slave to the Magister, you will have enough money to retire. That much I can guarantee.”

“The Magister must _really_ want this slave,” Gruff said with surprise.

“Apparently so,” Unctuous replied. “The slave is a valuable piece of property and the Magister has plans for him or so I have been told. All that matters to you and I however is that we are paid.”

“Too true,” Gruff replied and their voices trailed off as they moved away from the cart.

The ever-present despair rose again and Fenris thought he might drown in it. He let it funnel through and act with the potion to render his thoughts broken and detached. He didn’t want to think anymore. What was there to think about? Besides it was better if he _didn’t_ think. Easier.

He barely noticed when the cart came to a halt a few hours later and the slavers began setting up camp. Once that was done, one of them clambered into the cart and he heard a screech of metal opening, confirming that he was indeed in some sort of cage. Someone grabbed hold of his hair and yanked his head up.

“You’ll drink and eat what I give you, slave,” said a cruel voice, not one of the two he’d heard before. “You spit it out or try and fight in any way…” He chuckled. “Well, there’s plenty of time between here and Minrathous for bruises to heal.”

There was a part of Fenris that did want to fight, that wanted to try and get away or even just refuse their orders but an older, deeper, _uglier_ part of himself was starting to rise again, to take control. The part that had been dominant when he was a slave, the part that had guided his hand when he’d slaughtered the Fog Warriors. The part that whispered, “ _Do what you’re told, obey your masters, it’ll be better that way_.” He shuddered, letting himself slip further back into the mindset of a slave, and then he opened his mouth.

“Good boy.”

A potion was poured into his mouth and he dutifully swallowed it. After that, came mouthfuls of thin gruel and again he did what he was told. The man then let go of his hair and he heard the thin screech of the cage door opening and closing again and the dull thunk of the padlock clicking into place. He bowed his head and sought some sort of oblivion in the potion, anything to forget what was happening. He felt like he should try to fight, try to retain that sense of self that he had fought so _hard_ for over the years but it was easier to just… let go. What other choice did he have?

He wasn’t sure how long he wallowed in despondency, certainly long enough for the slavers to settle down into sleep with only a small number on guard. He wished almost immediately he hadn’t come out of his own mind as he now became aware of how much his arms, shoulders and back ached and how sore he was from being left in one position for this length of time. He bit back a groan and tried to alleviate some of the ache in his shoulders but he had been chained too well. He also became aware of a desperate need to relieve himself and he sagged unhappily in his bonds at the thought of soiling himself. He suspected that if he asked to be allowed to relieve himself, he’d be greeted with jeers but if he actually did make a mess, the punishment would be worse.

“Dark, dank, despair. Alone and bereft… except not. Not anymore.”

It took every ounce of control Fenris possessed to not react to the sudden whispered voice coming from right beside him and it took him several more moments to recognise it.

“ _Cole_?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Yes, it’s me.” A cold hand patted him on the shoulder. “I’ve seen what needs to be seen. What’s seen now needs to be told. Don’t lose hope.”

There was another pat on his shoulder then the sense of another person being there disappeared. Fenris wasn’t sure whether to dare to hope as Cole had suggested or let himself despair again. Did… did Cole’s presence mean that the others had come? He wasn’t sure how though. The slavers had seemed so confident they couldn’t and wouldn’t be followed.

Silence reined again then Fenris heard three soft gurgles almost one on top of each other. His heart rate picked up as he listened intently, trying to figure out what was going on. The cart suddenly jostled and creaked and he flinched even as he heard a small quiet chorus of shushing noises.

“Alright, alright,” Sera whispered. “Stop trying to be grabby mcgrabbypants and let me work.”

An impossible, overwhelming sense of hope and disbelief rose in Fenris as he heard the quiet scratching at the padlock. The lock popped open then there was a moment of silence followed by some odd squidgy noises. Then came the sound of the door swinging open almost silently. The cart rocked and jostled again and a large hand came to rest on Fenris’ shoulder as a warm presence suddenly loomed over him from one side. The scent was enough to tell him who it was before they spoke.

“Fenris love?” Hawke whispered. “Brace yourself.”

Fenris frowned then leaned against Hawke as best as he could. Just as he did that, there was the sound of an almighty explosion followed by a variety of war cries. Chaos exploded outside and Fenris heard the sounds of fighting and, from the pained and panicked cries, people dying.

All of a sudden, the blindfold disappeared and he blinked into the brightness of the daylight broken by fires and the flash of spells. He hadn’t really felt the passage of time and realised the slavers must have stopped to get a few hours of sleep after being up all night. He turned and saw Hawke reaching for the collar. He flinched away automatically and Hawke stilled.

“I want to get this damned collar off,” Hawke said, leaning close enough that he could hear him over the sound of the fight. “It’s just an ordinary collar. I can undo it easily enough. Will you let me?”

Fenris nodded jerkily and managed to hold still as Hawke’s hands fumbled with the buckle of the collar. The mage then gently lifted it off and let it drop to hang from the attached chains.

“I need… I have to… to get out.” Fenris’ voice was hoarse with desperation.

Hawke nodded. “We need more room to work out what they’ve done with this chain on your arms. Will you let me help you get out?”

Fenris nodded jerkily again and let Hawke help and guide him out of the cage as the sounds of the fight began to die down. The moment his feet touched the grass, his knees went out from underneath him. Hawke caught him and lifted him into his arms. Fenris immediately stiffened.

“Fenris, love, please… let me get you out of here,” Hawke murmured. 

“Over here, Hawke,” came Dorian’s familiar voice. “I’ve started a fire.”

Fenris felt himself be carried for a few paces then he was lowered to sit on the ground. He realised he’d closed his eyes again and he opened them to find a campfire burning merrily just to one side. Dorian was crouched well out of reach, his expression a mix of worry and anger.

“The slavers?” Hawke asked as he shifted behind Fenris.

“Very dead,” Dorian said with grim satisfaction.

Hawke made a satisfied noise. “Varric?”

The dwarf came over, his cross bow in hand. “Yeah?”

“Can you pick this lock?”

Varric handed Bianca to Hawke then shifted around so that Fenris could see him. “That okay with you, Broody? It doesn’t look too complicated but its right up between your shoulder blades so it may be a little awkward.”

If it had been Sera or Cole, Fenris didn’t think he could have handled it but it was _Varric_ and that meant everything. He nodded without hesitation and Varric disappeared behind him. He could feel the shifting of the chains and Varric’s familiar little mutterings as the dwarf went to work. Finally came the triumphant ‘Aha!’ and the chains loosened. Fenris exploded into movement, shaking the chains off his arms and staggering a few steps away from everyone as he rolled his shoulders and jerked his arms. He realised he was panting wildly and his brands were lit up brightly.

“Fenris?”

He looked up and saw Hawke standing not far away, both hands outstretched in a non-threatening way. Hawke looked worried but not frightened nor was there pity anywhere on his face.

“Love?”

It was the concern and love in Hawke’s voice that finally brought Fenris back to himself. He stared at Hawke for a moment longer then with an anguished cry, he staggered forward and into Hawke’s arms. He was immediately wrapped up in his lover’s embrace and surrounded by Hawke’s warmth and scent and he felt _safe_. He buried his face in Hawke’s neck and just _breathed_.

There came the sudden twang of a bowstring and Sera said with vicious triumph, “Take _that_ , ya bastards!”

“Uh, Sera darling,” Dorian said with amusement. “I think they’re already dead.”

“Now they’re deader.”

“Would you like me to raise them so you can kill them again?”

There was a moment of silence. “Ew. I’m actually considering that.”

“I could do it all day if you like.”

“Now you’re just being creepy.”

A hoarse laugh forced itself out of Fenris’ throat and he slowly pulled away from Hawke. Not far, he wasn’t willing to go far, but enough to see what was going on and who was there.

Bull and his Chargers were busy searching the bodies and piling them over on one side. Blackwall and Varric were helping them. Sera was standing near the bodies with her bow in her hand while Dorian, Vivienne, Cassandra and Solas waited near the fire Dorian had started. Cole was nowhere to be seen though he was surely around somewhere.

“Fenris?” Hawke asked softly. “What do you need?”

Fenris swallowed and forced himself to speak. “I need…” He waved towards the bushes.

Hawke nodded and slowly, rather reluctantly let him go. Fenris disappeared into the bushes to relieve himself, uncaring of the proximity of the others. He recognised it as a portion of his slave self still dominant in his mind. Slaves do what they’re told, when they’re told, how they’re told. They feel no shame because a slave does not possess shame. Shame is only possessed by people, not property. It was rubbish, of course, but the masters liked to think that way. He emerged from the bushes to find Solas waiting for him, a bundle of clothes cradled in his arms.

“Fenris, will you allow me to look at you to ensure you are unharmed?” 

Solas’ voice was low and calm but there was an undercurrent that amazed Fenris. Solas was angry. No, not angry, _furious_. Not at him but at the slavers and, Fenris suspected, slavery in general.

“I am fine,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

Solas smiled faintly. “Will you allow me to set my mind… and those of the others… at ease?”

He stood in place, meekly taking the bundle of clothes when they were offered to him. He could almost feel the worry radiating off Hawke and it took a moment to realise what it was about. He was standing in much the same way as he had when he had first met Hawke. Shoulders slightly bowed, head down, eyes looking at the ground. A slave’s stance, deferential and meek, designed to not draw attention.

Solas was quick and efficient and the sigh of relief from the elven mage made Fenris smile very faintly. He quickly dressed and when he looked up again, Vivienne had moved forward imperiously.

“Inquisitor,” she said, her choice of address very clear and firm, re-asserting his position of respect and authority. “We are some distance from Skyhold and I believe all of us could do with some rest before we return. What would you have us do?”

For a moment he simply stared at her, his words lost in the silence of a slave. He blinked and licked his lips, working to haul himself back out of the mire in his head. 

“What…” he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What options do we have?”

“We could move a short distance from this mess and set up camp,” Vivienne replied. “Or one of our allies has a small hunting lodge not far from here. Ambassador Montilyet gave me some papers before we left that will ensure we are warmly welcomed.”

Fenris looked around at the remnants of the slavers and shivered. Camping would be quicker but far too open for his peace of mind right now.

“The lodge.” He swallowed and hesitated for a moment. “Vivienne…”

He stopped, unable to articulate what he wanted but Vivienne seemed to understand anyway. Indeed she proved to understand something that Fenris hadn’t quite been able to establish in his own mind just yet.

“I shall take Lieutenant Aclassi and Dorian and we shall head there directly to ensure your welcome is smooth and untroubled,” she said serenely.

Fenris nodded and watched as Vivienne gathered up the Tevinter Altus and Soporati and only when they had disappeared out of sight among the trees did he finally relax.

“Hawke?”

The mage was there in an instant, close but not quite touching. “Yes, love?”

“I need…” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Hawke placed a hand on his arm. “Look, come over here and have something to eat and drink. Cassandra found a potion in their stuff that she didn’t much like the look of. Have they been dosing you with something?”

Fenris nodded and let himself lean into Hawke. He felt more than heard his lover’s soft relieved chuckle then he was being guided over to sit beside the fireplace. A mug of something warm was pressed into his hands and when he took a sip, it proved to be tea. He looked up to find Solas watching him carefully.

“Tea,” Solas said almost whimsically. “I despise the stuff but it does have its uses. In this case, this particular tea will help your body rid itself of that potion faster.”

That encouraged Fenris to take another sip of the tea and that was when he realised how thirsty he was. The tea was warm but not too hot and he was able to slurp down the rest of it eagerly. Once he had finished the tea, he was offered bread and cheese and water and he ate and drank that just as enthusiastically. By the time he finished the last bite of cheese, his mind felt clearer and less like he was descending into a mire.

“How did you find me?” he asked, his voice still hoarse.

“It was a bit of a group effort,” Hawke said. “Leliana and Cullen’s people found how they got you out, Solas traced the trail until we got to flat ground and Bull and his people were able to track you from there. We thought we were going to have to be really tricky but they left enough of a trail for Skinner and Dalish to track.”

“They were… Magister Marcinius was the name.” Fenris grimaced. “I think that’s him. It’s… familiar but I… I can’t be sure.”

“Shh,” Hawke said. “We can sort all of that out later. Let’s just get somewhere safe and rest.” He smiled wryly. “I could do with it. I’ve got a killer headache.”

Fenris frowned, reminded that Hawke had been attacked as well. “Your head…?”

“I’ll be fine,” Hawke replied. “Nothing’s broken. Just a bad knock. The healers are a bit angry at me for coming along but… well, staying behind was never going to happen.”

Something wound tight deep in Fenris’ chest unravelled at that admission. Hawke had come for him. Everyone had come for him. They hadn’t washed their hands of him. They hadn’t discarded him or dismissed him as useless or unneeded or unwanted. They’d come after him.

He suddenly became aware that he was breathing heavily and his brands were lit up again. Hawke had an arm wrapped around his shoulders and was murmuring soothing nonsense words.

“You came,” he said in a shaking voice.

Hawke was silent for a moment. “ _Always_.”

“When you left…” Fenris gulped. “There was… part of me that thought…”

Hawke winced at the reminder of the damage he’d done by leaving Fenris behind. He’d thought he was doing the right thing but now…

“No,” he said softly. “You are… you are the most important person in my life, Fenris. You’re _everything_. That’s kind of why I left. Stupidly enough. I wanted to protect you and keep you safe because I couldn’t bear to lose you and I was afraid if you came with me, you’d kill yourself trying to protect me or something.” He looked rather rueful. “I’ll admit my logic gets kind of shaky when it comes to you.”

Fenris gave a small huff that might have been a laugh and then he drew in a breath. “We should go.”

Hawke nodded and helped him to his feet. Cassandra and Blackwall doused the fire and they followed the path Krem had marked for them. Fenris was mostly silent during the trip, staying close to Hawke, and the others arranged themselves in a loose defensive circle around them. 

It wasn’t far to the hunting lodge but to Fenris it felt like an eternity and when they finally came into sight of the building and he saw Vivienne standing in the doorway, waiting for them, he gave a sigh of relief. It was Madame de Fer herself who ushered he and Hawke to a room. A steaming bath stood in the middle of the room and a table to the side held a bottle of wine and a platter of easily-nibbled food. The bed was already turned down and all but one set of curtains had been drawn to close out the sunlight. Vivienne gave them an austere but kind smile and bowed herself out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Hawke stared at the door for a moment then shook his head. “You know, that woman drives me nuts sometimes but there’s a hell of a lot more to her than meets the eye.”

Fenris smiled wanly. “She has her moments.”

“That she does.” Hawke placed his hands lightly on Fenris’ shoulders. “Now, into the bath with you.”

Fenris nodded and stripped off the clothes he was wearing. He climbed into the steaming water, hissing a little at the heat, then he sat down and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he picked up the soap and the washcloth and started scrubbing himself fiercely. He felt like all he could smell was the slavers and the potion, like it had become ingrained into his skin even in the short period that they’d had him. He’d been vaguely aware of Hawke moving around the room but he was still startled when the washcloth was gently pulled from his hand.

He wasn’t given a chance to ask a question or protest before Hawke kneeled next to the tub and began to gently run the washcloth over him in stark comparison to his own harshness. Hawke was calm and methodical and strangely silent but as the gentle washing continued, Fenris felt all the stress and tension start to flow out of him. What was more, he felt _loved_ and _cherished_ and he let his head fall back onto the edge of the tub as he relaxed and his muscles unknotted.

“You should have seen the place after I staggered out and told them what happened,” Hawke murmured, shaking Fenris out of his doze. “Middle of the night and it was like I’d poked a wasp’s nest. Everyone came boiling out, angry and ready to fight. You know… I’ve never seen Cullen like that. I can finally see why he’s got the title of Commander. I’m used to seeing him as Knight-Captain Cullen, the Templar with a stick up his arse, and I guess I’ve still been thinking of him that way, like he was in Kirkwall. But the man I saw tonight… whew! I wouldn’t want to be on the other side of a battle with him. I swear he actually _would_ invade Tevinter if that’s what it took to get you back.”

Fenris managed a faint smile as Hawke went on. “And your Inner Circle as they call themselves. Didn’t even have to ask whether they’d help. They were all there. The Chargers never hesitated. Hell, I think your entire army would have come along if they’d been allowed to. And Leliana… damn but she looked scary. I think she’d have assassinated her way across half of Thedas if she’d had to.”

He caressed Fenris’ face and the elf leaned into the touch. “You’re amazing, you know that? I could barely get my friends to stop arguing with each other. I sure as hell couldn’t save my family or my city. But you? You’ve created the Inquisition and made it into a power.”

“Not me,” Fenris whispered. “The others…”

“Nope,” Hawke replied, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You. Those people would follow you into hell and back, not because they’re afraid or because you’re paying them, but because they respect you. Maybe it started out because of that Herald of Andraste stuff or the whole Shartan thing but now? It’s you.”

Fenris was silent, his gaze turned inward and he rolled those thoughts around in his mind. It wasn’t the first time that sort of thing had been said to him or suggested in his hearing but somehow hearing it from Hawke, who had lead in his own way for ten years, made them real.

“You couldn’t get us to stop arguing because you never really tried,” he said quietly. “You respected our point of view, even when you disagreed with it.” He smiled a little. “Or you’d have abandoned me a long time ago.

Hawke chuckled. “Well, I had other motivations for wanting to get on your good side. You really are very attractive, you know.”

Fenris blushed and coughed a little awkwardly. He still wasn’t used to Hawke’s compliments. For all that he said them so casually, he knew that Hawke meant them, every last one.

“Besides,” Hawke continued ruefully. “I think maybe I should have argued with Anders a bit more than I did. I might have avoided the whole boom thing.”

Fenris scowled suddenly. “I thought we had an agreement about not discussing _him_ in the bedroom.”

Hawke beamed at him and Fenris was baffled as to why that response would get that reaction. Hawke laughed and leaned in and kissed him.

“There’s my grouchy, grumpy, snarly Fenris,” he murmured against his lips. “Welcome back. You had me a little scared there for a while.”

Fenris stared at him for a moment then he sighed and shook his head. “I… apologise.”

“Uh-uh, nope,” Hawke said. “No apologising for that. I was just worried.”

“It was just… easier,” Fenris said with a grimace. “To… to go back to that mindset. To obey.”

Hawke caressed his face. “Shh. You don’t need to explain. You did what you needed to do to survive. I knew you’d find your way back. You did it once and I knew you’d do it again. It was just unnerving to have to wait, which is on me, not you.” Hawke rose to his feet and offered his hand. “Come on. Before you get all wrinkled and pruny.”

Fenris gave a small laugh and allowed himself to be pulled from the bath. He dried off and dressed in the loose shirt and breeches Hawke gave him then turned his attention to the food. Now that he was more or less back to himself, he realised he was ravenous. It was true the slavers had fed him but it had hardly been much and even the bread and cheese he’d had before seemed to have worn off. But then, a hungry slave was more likely to be an obedient slave. He knew that from experience.

He yawned more than once as he ate and when he’d finished Hawke nudged him towards the bed before going to close the last set of curtains. When Hawke joined him in the bed, Fenris had no hesitation in crawling into his lover’s embrace and letting his exhaustion claim him.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day after the rescue. Fenris is appreciative in many different ways, they wait for their escort home and Cole senses something ominous.

Fenris woke slowly and his first feeling was of confusion as to where he was. He knew that he wasn’t with the slavers. He wasn’t chained or collared and he was in a warm comfortable bed. That alone was enough to confirm that he was free. There was a warm familiar body curled up behind him, snuffling faintly at the back of his neck. Knowing that wherever he was, Hawke was with him was enough to make any remaining tension flow out of him. Then the memories returned and he gave a small sigh. He was in the hunting lodge of one of the Inquisition’s allies. The rest of his Inner Circle as well as the Chargers were also around somewhere. He was safe.

“F’nr’s?” came the soft mumble from behind him.

“I am awake.”

He smiled a little when Hawke shifted and drew him closer, nuzzling the back of his neck and pressing a kiss to the skin there. 

“How ‘r you feelin’?”

Fenris was silent for a moment. “Safe.”

He heard Hawke draw in a sharp breath and then those warm lips and scratchy beard were lining kisses along his shoulder.

“Love you,” Hawke mumbled.

Something rather mercurial shifted in Fenris and he turned around and shoved Hawke onto his back. The mage went willingly and simply smiled up at Fenris with sleepy adoration when he straddled his hips.

“I am yours,” Fenris said fervently. As always, Hawke’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. He had known right from the very first time Fenris had said that what those words meant coming from him. That a former slave does _not_ say such a thing lightly. Hawke’s hands tightened on his hips and his expression was one of both vulnerability and love. Fenris smiled as he continued, “And you are mine.”

“Always, Fenris. Always,” Hawke breathed.

Fenris shifted backwards until he was sitting on Hawke’s thighs and he wrapped a hand around the mage’s cock, encouraging it to its full hardness. Hawke groaned underneath him and tried to buck into his grip.

Fenris leaned forward and kissed him then murmured into his ear, “I want you.”

“You can have me,” Hawke said on the edge of a breathy moan.

Fenris climbed off Hawke, chuckling at the whine that gained him, and pulled open the drawer in the small bedside table. Vivienne had had a hand in these arrangements and he did not doubt she had taken care of _everything_. He was proven right when he found a vial of oil in the drawer. There was also a couple of healing potions, a sleeping draught, a box of his favourite sweets – though how Vivienne had discovered _that_ particular piece of information was beyond him – and a small towel.

He grabbed the oil and returned to his lover. “Turn over.”

Hawke did so with alacrity, tossing the blankets aside as he went. Fenris sat back on his haunches and ran a hand down Hawke’s back, just revelling in the warm skin that was all his.

“Fenris,” Hawke whined, undulating his hips into the mattress. “Please.”

Fenris nudged Hawke’s legs apart then blanketed the larger man with his body, sliding his erect cock into the crease of Hawke’s arse. They didn’t often do this, not because Hawke didn’t like being taken as his increasingly desperate noises now proved that he very much enjoyed it when it was on offer. It was more that Fenris liked feeling Hawke in him and around him, liked feeling so surrounded by someone who loved and cherished him as much as Hawke did. 

The other aspect was one they had only really discussed once – that Fenris associated taking someone far more with Danarius than he did being taken. He couldn’t really explain it in a terribly coherent manner but as much as Danarius had used Fenris as he pleased, he had also made him watch when he was with others. ‘Standing guard’ was his excuse but Fenris had always felt that Danarius knew how much he disliked it and thus made him do it.

But there were times, like now, when Fenris could cast all of that aside and simply enjoy the act of making love to Hawke like this.

He kissed the back of Hawke’s neck then, when he twisted around awkwardly, his mouth. He then returned to Hawke’s shoulders and kissed his way down his back. He uncorked the vial of oil and poured some onto his fingers. Hawke spread his legs wider when Fenris slid his finger over his hole and they both groaned when he carefully breached his lover.

Fenris never rushed the preparation and Hawke never complained, no matter how desperate he was. The same was true when their positions were reversed and it was one of the many small things Hawke did that made Fenris love him.

When Hawke was easily taking three fingers, Fenris could wait no longer. He pulled free and slicked his cock then lined himself up and eased into the slick heat of his lover’s arse.

“Fuck, Fenris,” Hawke moaned. “Feels so good.”

Fenris leaned over until he could rest his forehead in the middle of Hawke’s shoulders and catch his breath. “Hawke… _Garrett_... I need…”

“Yes.”

With that permission, Fenris pulled Hawke onto his knees and began to move. It took him a moment to find a steady rhythm and then he curled over Hawke’s back as he continued to thrust. Hawke shifted to a better angle then cried out with pleasure as that caused Fenris to hit that sweet spot inside him with every push. Fenris began to speed up and his grunts joined Hawke’s cries and inarticulate pleading.

When Fenris felt his orgasm approaching, he snaked a hand around Hawke’s waist and wrapped it around his shaft. He began to pump his hand in time with his thrusts and it wasn’t long before Hawke swore and came, his spend spattering Fenris’ hand and the sheets. The way Hawke tightened around him was enough to tip Fenris over the edge and he emptied himself into his lover with a low stream of Tevene.

They both collapsed onto the bed and lay there, sweating and panting, until Fenris finally moved. Hawke hissed as he slipped out of his arse and immediately turned so that he could pull Fenris into his arms, ignoring the mess they’d made of the bed.

“Mmm, that was good,” he murmured before kissing Fenris lazily.

“Yes, it was,” Fenris said with smug satisfaction even as he allowed himself to just melt into Hawke’s embrace.

Hawke chuckled and nuzzled his hair. “I love it when you’re smug.” He sobered for a moment. “But seriously, how are you feeling? Any after effects from whatever it was they were giving you?”

Fenris shook his head. “None so far as I can tell. As for the rest, I… I will be alright.” He paused. “You came for me. All of you. That is… that means more than you can know.”

Hawke brushed Fenris’ hair away from his face and kissed him gently. “We’d have torn the world apart if that’s what was needed.”

They rested like that for a while, trading caresses and lazy kisses, until the sounds of movement outside the door finally roused them. A light knock was followed by a quiet and discreet stream of servants who filled the bathtub with hot water and left food and drink in their wake. Once they were gone, Fenris and Hawke climbed out of the bed and slowly washed, ate and dressed. When they emerged from their room, a servant directed them to a rather lavishly decorated sitting room where the others were waiting.

“Inquisitor, are you well?” Cassandra asked, coming to her feet when she saw him.

Fenris nodded then he shifted from foot to foot. “Thank you,” he said stiffly, though they could see the sincerity behind the awkwardness. “All of you. For coming after me.”

“Never going to do anything else, Broody,” Varric said fondly. 

“Indeed,” Vivienne added as the others all nodded and murmured their agreement.

“What happened?” Cassandra asked. “Hawke said you were both attacked in your room but he didn’t know anything else.”

“There’s not much more I can add,” Fenris said as he and Hawke sat down. “They knocked me out as well and when I woke, I was chained and shackled and they started pouring that potion down my throat. It left me feeling… detached.”

“Why use it if they had you chained?” Blackwall rumbled.

“So that I couldn’t use my abilities,” Fenris replied. “They knew about them.”

“You said something about a Magister,” Hawke prompted.

Fenris grimaced. “Magister Marcinius. I cannot be entirely certain but I believe that is the nephew.”

“So he’s more involved than we thought,” Dorian said quietly. “But a name is good. Maevaris can work with a name.”

“So can Leliana,” Cassandra said grimly.

“That _would_ be a very Tevinter way of solving the problem,” Dorian said with a smirk. “Though I would recommend ensuring whoever inherits from this Marcinius is more amenable _before_ disposing of the problem.”

“I’m sure Leliana would be willing to winnow her way through the entire Magisterium, darling, if that’s what it took,” Vivienne observed.

“That might solve any number of problems, not just this one,” Dorian replied lightly.

“What would your friend do?” Fenris asked.

Dorian paused for a moment then chuckled. “Probably something very similar to what Leliana might do, though with more delicacy probably. But let me give her the name and see what she can find out. If she can use this to control Marcinius that might be more valuable than killing him, especially if he’s in contact with the Venatori.”

“As long as he leaves Fenris alone, I don’t care what happens to him,” Hawke said bluntly.

There was a general agreement on that point then Dorian looked over at Fenris.

“What do you want us to do?”

“Give the name to your friend,” Fenris said after a moment of thought. “Tell her to deal with him as she sees fit.”

Dorian looked faintly pleased. “I’ll do so.”

“I sent a message to Leliana, Cullen and Josephine when we arrived here earlier,” Cassandra said. “There was a reply when we woke. They are sending a detachment to escort us home and have asked us to wait until they arrive.”

“We need a detachment to get us home?” Bull said, looking sceptical.

“Leliana insisted,” Cassandra replied with one arched eyebrow.

That brought a moment of silence to the room. They could understand _Cullen_ insisting but that it was _Leliana_? That made more than a few of them feel uneasy.

“What does she know?” Fenris demanded.

“She did not say,” Cassandra replied. “The tone of the note was… terse.”

“Well, _that’s_ reassuring,” Dorian muttered.

Hawke frankly agreed with Dorian. He hadn’t been at Skyhold for that long but he’d been there long enough to know that Leliana did nothing without a reason.

“So when is this detachment getting here?” he asked.

“They should arrive this evening,” Cassandra replied. “I suggest we stay here for another night and return in the morning. It will be safer than travelling at night and will give the troops a chance to rest.”

“Given it is mid-afternoon already, that seems best,” Blackwall said with a nod and a frown. “On that score, I’m going to check my weapons and armour and wait for those troops.”

The group dispersed after that, leaving Hawke and Fenris in the room. Cole lingered for a moment and Fenris arched an eyebrow at him. He’d never felt entirely easy around the boy. He always brought to mind what had happened with Anders, even though there were marked differences between the two of them. The chief of which was that, according to Solas, Cole was a spirit, not a person possessed by a spirit. Still, Cole had always been helpful and calm and that counted for quite a bit in Fenris’ mind.

“Yes, Cole? What’s wrong?”

“I… don’t know.” The spirit rocked back and forth, wringing his hands with distress. “Something is not right. Not here. Here is safe. But… there.”

“At Skyhold?” Fenris asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Could Solas help you figure it out?” Hawke asked.

Cole’s face cleared and he looked relieved. “Yes! Solas. And Varric. I’ll speak to them.”

The boy almost seemed to disappear and Hawke shook his head with faint amusement.

“Does he do that all the time?”

Fenris snorted. “Yes.”

“He seems very fond of Varric.” Hawke looked a little nonplussed. “And vice versa.”

“Don’t look at me,” Fenris replied as he got to his feet. “I have no idea what’s going on there.”

Hawke also stood. “I’m torn between wanting to find out and not wanting to know.”

“I tend to choose the latter now until I _have_ to know.”

Hawke laughed and slung an arm around Fenris’ shoulders. “That sounds like a good plan. So… what do you want to do?”

Fenris smirked but chose not to reply with the obvious answer to that question. “My sword and armour? Did you bring it with you?”

Hawke blinked. “Um, I didn’t. Sorry, I didn’t even think of that. I blame the knock to the head. But Cassandra might have done so. She’s very organised.”

Fenris snorted and they went and chased down the Seeker. She had indeed brought both armour and sword along and Fenris took them with a nod of thanks. He returned to the room he was sharing with Hawke and got changed.

“I like the non-spiky look,” Hawke said from where he was lounging on the bed. “I liked the spiky look as well. Don’t get me wrong on that score. But this new look seems less likely to injure me.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and he slung his sword over his shoulder. “I want to spar.”

“With me or do you want me to find Bull or Blackwall for you?”

“You,” Fenris said. “Maybe the others later.”

Hawke nodded and got to his feet. He grabbed his staff and joined Fenris as they left the room. He was pretty sure he knew why Fenris wanted to face off against him first. The potion the slavers had given him was meant to dull his senses and make it impossible for him to use his abilities. If there was one thing guaranteed to trigger Fenris’ markings during a fight, it was magic. Even five years ago, Hawke might have argued with his lover, not wanting to be the cause of more pain but now he knew that the pain was… ever-present when Fenris used the markings and he’d had them for so long that using them was second nature. Hawke didn’t like it but he’d yet to find any kind of solution for it. He made a mental note to chase up Dorian about those notes he was hoping to get his hands on.

They made their way out the back of the lodge where there was sufficient space for what they wanted to do. Hawke marked out a rough circle and they got started. He kept his spells low key at the beginning until Fenris gave him a nod and then he got serious. Their fighting styles were not entirely compatible but it worked for them mostly because Hawke had a tendency to use his staff as much as a weapon as he did a focus for his magic. That and when Fenris really unleashed his abilities, he could be remarkably slippery for someone wielding a sword that was actually bigger than him.

When they finally wound down, after Hawke had been put on his back for the third time, they found they had an audience. Bull, Cassandra, Sera and Vivienne were all standing or sitting nearby, watching them with interest.

“Nice to know I’m not the only one the Boss puts on his arse,” Bull said cheerfully.

“He’s been doing that for years,” Hawke replied, equally jovially.

He grinned at Fenris’ snort and then took the elf’s hand to help him get up.

“You have a remarkable fighting style, my dear,” Vivienne said with open interest. “Were you trained by a Circle mage?”

Hawke eyed the woman warily. He knew that Fenris liked and respected Vivienne and, given she was a _mage_ , that alone predisposed him towards her but he also knew she had some opinions he didn’t entirely agree with.

“My father was trained in the Kirkwall Circle,” he said. “Before he ran off with my mother.”

“I thought your style had a distinct edge of Circle training about it that was unusual for an apostate,” Vivienne replied. “Though you seem to have… extrapolated from that.”

Hawke shrugged. “My father died when I was nineteen. I had to learn the rest for myself.”

“You’re well trained.” Vivienne arched an imperious eyebrow at him. “It’s not as common as you might think for those who have never been in a Circle.”

“I wonder why?” Hawke said with heavy sarcasm. “With so many Templars running around, it’s not like we can actually easily find someone to train us.”

“The Templars are _running around_ in order to take you somewhere you can receive that training.”

Hawke snorted. “Yes, because being stuck in the Kirkwall Circle would have been so much fun. You know, with the mages being made Tranquil for the most trivial of reasons and mages being abused by the Templars. About the only good thing I can say about Meredith is that even she wasn’t crazy enough to think that Alrik’s Tranquil Solution was a good idea.”

“I do not deny that conditions in the Kirkwall Circle were nothing short of appalling,” Vivienne said calmly. “And that Meredith’s declaration of the Right of Annulment was entirely unjustified. The Templars in Kirkwall needed a thorough cleaning out as, from what I have heard, did the mages. I am given to understand that the Grand Enchanter himself was consorting with the worst kind of blood mage, one attempting revivification.”

Hawke blanched and his hands gripped his staff tightly. He felt Fenris come up beside him but then he took a good look at Vivienne and realised she didn’t know. She’d simply heard of the matter in general, not that one of the victims – the _last_ victim – had been his mother.

“Yeah, it looks that way,” Hawke said tightly. It wasn’t as thought they’d really ever had an opportunity to question Orsino about that and quite frankly he wasn’t sure he really wanted to. He decided to change the subject slightly. “So what’s your solution then?”

“Re-establishment of the Circles, of course,” Vivenne said then she smiled thinly. “With perhaps a few significant changes.”

Hawke was about to ask about those changes when Blackwall came around the side of the house.

“Inquisitor,” he said. “The troops are here.”

Fenris nodded in acknowledgement and headed for the front of the house with Blackwall. Hawke hesitated for a moment then joined him. When they rounded the corner of the house, they saw a sizeable detachment of soldiers who didn’t relax one iota until they caught sight of Fenris.

“Inquisitor,” the Lieutenant in charge of the detachment said with a crisp salute. Now that he could see that Fenris was free and well, he positively _gleamed_ with the desire to do what was needed. “Your orders, ser?”

“We’re going to stay another night and head back tomorrow morning,” Fenris said. “Blackwall will show you and your men where to bunk down.”

“Yes, ser!”

Fenris hesitated. “Lieutenant? Was all well at Skyhold when you left?

The soldier frowned. “Yes, ser. Is there…?”

Fenris waved a hand. “That’s fine.”

The Lieutenant hesitated for a moment. “Ser? If there’s anything I need to know?”

“We’ll speak of it tomorrow morning,” Fenris replied. “I may have more answers then.”

The soldier nodded slowly then turned to Blackwall. Fenris immediately headed for the house with Hawke beside him.

“You’re worried about what Cole said,” Hawke said.

Fenris nodded. “Cole is… unnerving but he’s usually right.”

They found Solas and Varric in what was probably the lord’s study. Varric was slumped in the chair behind the desk while Solas was staring out the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Was Cole able to tell you more?” Fenris asked without preamble when he walked into the room.

“Not as such, Inquisitor,” Solas replied, turning around. “He is definitely sensing _something_ in the direction of Skyhold but he has no frame of reference for what it is nor can he give any definitive answer as to precisely _where_ it is coming from.”

“Kid’s got himself tied up in knots about it,” Varric added. “Got himself all in a tizzy then said he was going to find out and he’d be back later.”

“What is his definition of later?” Fenris said with a snort.

“Who knows,” Varric said dryly. “My guess is he’ll be back by morning. He understands time to a certain extent and he knows we’re planning on leaving in the morning. He won’t let us walk into anything blind.”

“I agree,” Solas said. “It may be that he is fretting about something perfectly normal but I saw no reason to dissuade him from going to look. I’ll do what I can to trace him in the Fade tonight.”

Hawke shivered. “You say that so casually. My last experience in the Fade was, uh… interesting.”

Solas looked surprised when Fenris looked a little embarrassed and sheepish. “Indeed?”

“Hawke,” Varric complained, shooting a glance at Fenris. “Do we have to?”

“I got sold out, Varric,” Hawke said, shaking his finger at the dwarf even as he grinned. “I like big boats and I cannot lie. That woman. Honestly.”

“You’ve got to admit that was a good line,” Varric said with a faint grin. 

“I confess I do not understand,” Solas said curiously.

Hawke shook his head wryly. “I was helping a half-elven kid called Feynriel who was a Dreamer.”

Solas looked startled. “Truly? Such an ability is rare indeed.”

“So I gathered,” Hawke replied. “He got caught in the Fade. His mother had asked me and Keeper Marethari for help to get him out of whatever trouble he’d gotten into. Turned out to be demons. He’d drawn the attention of a sloth demon, a desire demon and a pride demon.” He snorted. “The kid had a few issues.”

“What happened?”

“Hawke,” Fenris said, sounding pained.

Hawke immediately turned to him and raised one hand to cradle his face. “You know I don’t blame you, love. I’m pretty sure I convinced you of that at the time. That was a pretty tempting offer you got. Even _I_ was tempted by it.”

“What was it?” Solas asked.

“Power equal to the magisters,” Hawke replied, caressing Fenris’ face. “And I’m pretty sure Wyrme meant _all_ the magisters put together.” He grinned. “Fenris doesn’t do things halfway.”

Much to Fenris’ surprise, Solas chuckled. “That would indeed be a tempting offer. Especially for one who has suffered greatly at the hands of a magister.”

“That’s what I said.” Hawke snorted. “And it’s a damn sight better than succumbing to temptation at the offer of a _boat_.”

Hawke still didn’t look terribly offended and Fenris began to relax again. 

“I am not cheap,” he said with a sniff.

Hawke’s grin widened. It was, as far as he could recall, the first time Fenris had ever been able to joke about that particular incident. He suspected it was because Solas, with his great experience with spirits, demons and the Fade, hadn’t condemned him for his slip up. For all that Fenris still disliked mages, he seemed to have a great deal of respect for the elven mage.

“What happened to Feynriel?” Solas asked.

“Marethari thought we might have to make him Tranquil.” Hawke grimaced. “I managed to avoid that though. We sent him off to Tevinter. They still have Dreamers. Last we heard, he was getting the training he needed there and he’s pretty powerful.”

“That is good to hear,” Solas said, sounding dubious.

“Yeah,” Hawke said. “I wasn’t really that keen to send him off to Tevinter either but Marethari said untrained Dreamers are especially vulnerable to possession. I wanted to give the kid a chance.”

“That’s kind of Hawke’s modus operandi,” Varric said with a grin. “Let’s give them a chance.”

Hawke threw his hands in the air and laughed. “Everyone deserves a chance, Varric.”

“And that’s how Hawke gathered his merry band of misfits,” Varric replied, still grinning.

Hawke shrugged. “It’s a bit hard to argue with that.”

Fenris snorted and Varric waggled a finger at him.

“You’re a big part of that, Broody.” He looked over at Solas. “Though he may not show it much these days, Broody can be _really_ offensive when he wants to be.”

Fenris smiled a little. “Only when I want to be.”

“Which was most of the time around Blondie and Daisy,” Varric replied.

“Naturally,” Fenris said blandly.

Hawke sidled up behind Fenris and slid his arms around his waist. He rested his chin on his shoulder and kissed his neck. “ _Fen_ ris…”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Whatever you are about to say, you are undoubtedly wrong.”

Hawke opened his mouth then closed it again. He sighed. “Well… maybe. About Anders anyway. But Merrill isn’t that bad.”

Fenris turned his head just enough to glare at him. “She is a blood mage.”

“Well, yes,” Hawke conceded. “But she’s not a _bad_ blood mage, she’s just… Merrill.”

Varric grinned. “Killer bunny rabbit.”

Hawke chuckled then nuzzled into Fenris’ hair. “Something like that.” 

Fenris snorted and opened his mouth to reply but then he closed his eyes and shuddered when Hawke nipped at the tip of his ear. “ _Hawke_ ,” he grated, one hand closing tightly around Hawke’s wrist.

“Yes, dear?” Hawke said, grinning wickedly. He knew _precisely_ how sensitive Fenris’ ears were and was not at all afraid to use that to his advantage, such as derailing whatever rant about Merrill was in the offing.

Fenris whirled around, placed his hands on Hawke’s chest and started shoving him to the door. “Do not start something you don’t intend to finish.”

“Oh, I intend to finish this,” Hawke said in a low tone. He looked over Fenris’ shoulder at Varric and Solas. “We’ll… get back to you tomorrow morning.”

“Have fun,” Varric said with a grin. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t write about.”

“That should leave us pretty open,” Hawke said before he was unceremoniously – but very willingly – shoved out the door.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I hate it when life gets in the way of my fic writing.
> 
> So, in this chapter, they head back to Skyhold to find out what's going on there and find a interesting surprise.

Fenris woke the next morning to two distinct sensations. The first was the sense of warmth, love and affection that always came from being wrapped up in Hawke’s embrace. The second was the distinct impression that he was being watched. He opened his eyes and, for a moment, he saw nothing in the early morning gloom then he realised someone was sitting in the window and he sucked in a sharp breath. Just as he was about to launch himself out of bed and grab his sword, the figure spoke.

“It’s just me. Cole.”

Fenris ground his teeth and shoved his fear and anger back down. “What are you doing here?” he snapped.

“Something’s wrong at home. At Skyhold.” Cole shifted off the window sill and crouched down next to the bed. Fenris blinked, unsure as to how the boy had crossed the room so quickly. “I didn’t get close. Sick singing, wrong, so wrong, whispers in the air.”

“Whispers in the air?” Hawke said, shifting up onto one elbow. 

Fenris had been aware that Hawke was awake but Cole wasn’t and he squawked in fright before settling down. 

“Whispers, deep and dark, relentless, restless, wrong.” Cole’s eyes were wide with fear. “Madness.”

Both Fenris and Hawke untangled themselves and sat up. Hawke waved a hand to light to candles and the fire place and they stared at each other for a moment.

“Red lyrium?” Fenris asked.

“It kind of sounds like it, doesn’t it?” Hawke said with a grimace. “A bit like Bartrand’s mansion when we went back there.”

Fenris frowned as he got out of bed and started dressing. “There is red lyrium at Skyhold but Dagna keeps it contained under lock and key.”

“No,” Cole said. “This is different. That song is muted and softened, contained and controlled, tamed by cheer and focus. This is not.”

Hawke was also dressing and his expression was thunderous. “I don’t know about you, Fenris, but I’m starting to think this abduction was a diversion of some description.”

Fenris grunted. The thought had been going through his mind. He turned to Cole. “Can you tell where in Skyhold the red lyrium is?”

Cole hesitated for a moment then nodded. “Deep but rising.”

“Helpful,” Hawke said dryly.

Fenris ignored him and kept his attention on Cole. “Can you go back to Skyhold and warn Cullen and Leliana?”

Cole shuddered but nodded. “It won’t feel right but yes, I will.”

The boy seemed to all but disappear and Fenris and Hawke continued getting ready after sending a servant to wake everyone else. The others were waiting for them outside along with the Lieutenant of the detachment sent to escort them and the Chargers.

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra said with a frown. For someone who had been woken before dawn, she looked frighteningly put together.

“Cole says there is red lyrium in Skyhold beyond that which Dagna uses,” Fenris said grimly. “He didn’t have a lot of details but I’ve sent him back to warn Cullen and Leliana.”

“How?” Cassandra demanded.

“I have no idea,” Fenris said with an edge of irritation. “But presumably it was brought in when the kidnappers came in.”

“Interesting,” Dorian drawled, his expression slightly dangerous. “Were we sent off on a wild goose chase?”

“Those kidnappers seemed pretty serious,” Varric said dubiously.

Hawke looked over at Fenris. “Did the slavers say anything that might help?”

Fenris grimaced. “I… don’t know. I did get the impression that only one of them had met the Magister. Or the Magister’s agents. I have no idea which but he seemed to be the one in charge.”

“I’d ask whether you’d recognise him but it’s a bit of a moot point,” Hawke said with a wry grin.

Fenris snorted and looked faintly amused “It would be a little difficult to question him now.”

“What are you thinking, Hawke?” Varric asked.

“I’m just wondering whether it was really the Magister they were working for,” Hawke said. “Corypheus’ people and those Red Templars seem to be the main source of red lyrium.”

“Or maybe this Magister has joined the Venatori,” Bull rumbled. 

Hawke sighed. “Yeah, that’s a point.”

“Don’t think we’re going to know until we get back,” Blackwall grunted. “How are we going to do that? The way we came or the long way?”

“The way we came features a rather precipitous ascent,” Solas said with raised eyebrow.

“True but it’s quicker,” Bull said. His expression said he’d much rather take the long way round but was willing to do what was necessary.

“What would they expect us to do?” Vivienne asked.

“Come back the long way probably,” Varric replied. 

“Then we go back the short way,” Fenris said.

No one looked particularly happy about that and when they reached the narrow trail up the cliff face, Fenris understood why. He had been unconscious when he been brought down this path so this was his first time seeing it. But when he examined the ascent, he saw that the climb would be difficult but not impossible.

“We’ll have to take it slow,” Blackwall said, looking resigned. “And rope together.”

“I’m good at being an anchor for that sort of thing,” Bull rumbled.

Fenris nodded and in short order, they were roped together with Bull at the end of the line and Fenris in the middle. Solas was at the front and he lead the way back up the trail slowly but surely. It took several hours to make the climb and when they reached the top, they were surprised to find Cole waiting for them with Stroud and Carver.

“You could have woken me up,” Carver complained when Hawke and Fenris appeared.

“I wasn’t really in charge of that,” Hawke replied.

“What’s going on?” Fenris asked Stroud, ignoring the brothers.

“It’s been an interesting day,” Stroud said dryly. “Carver had told me of the events in Bartrand’s house but I was still unprepared for the reality.”

“Things are floating around on their own?” Fenris asked.

“Not everywhere,” Stroud replied. “Just the areas around the tower where your rooms are. Ambassador Montilyet spent a rather unnerving hour dealing with it in her office before she gave up.”

“Cullen and Leliana have evacuated everyone from the main building,” Carver added. “And Cullen is leading a group to go down and find out what’s going on.”

Fenris frowned. “Cullen? Should he be doing that?”

When he got a collection of blank looks except for the worry on Cassandra’s face, he remembered that no one else knew the Commander’s situation. 

“He would be acutely sensitive to it,” Cassandra said delicately. “But I believe he would be in no danger as long as he did not ingest it.”

The Seeker’s response gained more blank looks except from Varric and, surprisingly, Dorian, who both had looks of dawning understanding on their faces.

“Let’s go,” Fenris growled.

It didn’t take long to get back to the stronghold, where they found that most of the people who normally lived there had been sent down the road to one of the last camping sites they’d used on the way to stronghold a few months before. Leliana and Josephine were waiting for them with a small contingent of soldiers.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “I’m glad to see you safe and well.”

Fenris nodded in acknowledgement. “Thank you. What’s happening?”

“Cullen has taken a group down into the foundations of the building,” the Spymaster reported. “Cole pointed him in that direction and insists that the red lyrium is down there. The song is strong so deep is what he said specifically.”

“We have certainly seen its effects,” Josephine said with a shudder. “I had read Varric’s tale and I had dismissed much of what he said happened in Bartrand’s home as elaboration but it seems I was wrong. It was most disconcerting to see books and chairs floating around my office.”

“Aw, Ruffles, I’m wounded that you doubt me so,” Varric said, though his grin showed he wasn’t offended.

“Hmph,” Cassandra said with an arched eyebrow but she didn’t say anything else.

“What interests me is that I’m pretty sure it took a while to get to that stage with Bartrand,” Hawke said, raising an eyebrow at Varric.

Varric sighed. “To be honest, I’m not sure how long it took the damn statue to drive him mad or what prompted that creepy shit. He’d sold the thing by then.”

“Does it matter?” Fenris said impatiently. “I would prefer to get the red lyrium out of Skyhold and then sort out the rest.”

“That’s a good point,” Varric said with a shudder. “The less of that red shit we have around, the better.”

Just then, a young soldier came running out to them. He saluted Fenris and drew in several deep breaths.

“Inquisitor! Commander Cullen has asked if you and Serah Hawke would come immediately.”

Fenris nodded and he and Hawke followed the young soldier back into the empty stronghold. They were led to the door that led to the Inquisitor’s quarters and onto the walkway beyond it. A ladder had been securely affixed to the balustrade and one by one, they climbed over and down. Torches had been set in the wall and once they reached the bottom, they found they were in an old basement of some description. Fenris wasn’t sure if it had ever been used. It seemed to more exist just as a foundation for the rest of Stronghold.

“Inquisitor.”

Cullen emerged from the gloom and Fenris took one look at his expression and tensed. Behind him, he could hear Hawke’s indrawn breath.

“What is it?” Fenris demanded.

“You’d… better come and see,” Cullen said grimly.

He led the way through the foundations and they heard and felt the red lyrium before they saw where it came from. It wasn’t exactly what they expected. Though there was a person undeniably there, he wasn’t infected in any way, so far as they could see. Instead he knelt slumped within a small cage made of red lyrium. From what they could see, the cage was unfinished in that there was no floor. It could have been easily lifted if it hadn’t been made entirely of red lyrium… and if the man within wasn’t in the condition he was.

“Anders!” Hawke breathed. He lurched forward as though to get the man out of the cage but then reared backwards from the red lyrium before Fenris or Cullen could do anything. “Maker, we have to get him out of there.”

“I’ve sent for Dagna,” Cullen said. His expression was neutral as he stared at the apostate Warden mage. “She’ll know how to move this cage.”

Fenris stared at the mage for a long moment. “Has he said anything?”

“He hasn’t even moved,” Cullen replied. “He’s made no response to anything we’ve said. I can’t even tell if he’s conscious.”

“Even if he is, that red lyrium is pretty intense,” Hawke said with a grimace. He was shifting from foot to foot as though he wanted to take action but knew there was nothing he could do. “It’s probably overwhelming him. That and he’s undoubtedly hearing that false Calling as well.”

Movement caught there attention and they turned to see a breathless Dagna hurrying towards them. Her eyes widened when she saw the cage and she approached it far closer than Hawke had been able to get.

“Can you shift it?” Fenris asked.

Dagna nodded absently. “Oh yes. That won’t be too difficult. It’ll take me longer to cut it down for secure storage than it will to actually shift it.” 

She turned to the soldier who had come with her and started issuing orders to him. As she did, Cullen drew Fenris and Hawke away.

“Inquisitor,” the Commander said firmly and with some significance. “What do you want done with him once Dagna frees him?”

Fenris blinked then he realised what Cullen was asking and who he was asking it of – not Fenris, the former slave who had followed Hawke, but Fenris, the Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste. It made Fenris hesitate and swallow down his kneejerk reaction. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to think not about what he, _personally_ , wanted but what he should do as the leader of a growing force in Thedas but it was certainly one of the hardest. And this time he could feel Hawke’s eyes on him. His lover said nothing though.

His hands clenched into fists as he remembered some of what this man had said about and to him, he remembered what this man had done and what it had cost so many people both then and since then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Have him taken to the healers and put in a private room,” Fenris ordered. “I want two Templars on guard outside the door at all times.” His lips twitched. “And inform Stroud that we have found one of his errant Wardens.”

Cullen nodded and strode over to the issue the requisite orders. Fenris turned and gave Hawke a challenging look.

“Well?”

Hawke fidgeted for a moment then he snapped, “The Templars aren’t necessary.”

“Yes, they are.” Fenris snorted. “You should pay more attention, Hawke. He is not popular.”

Hawke sighed. “I know _that_.”

“He is not popular among the mages,” Fenris continued.

Hawke looked startled. “Really?”

Fenris snorted again. “There are some among the rebels who think highly of him but many, including those who were apostates, only remember that his actions brought the wrath of the Templars down upon them. And not just the Templars. It brought the wrath of the angry mob down upon them as well if people found out they were mages.”

“So… you’re protecting him?” Hawke asked, sounding justifiably dubious.

“It is up to the authorities in Kirkwall, the Chantry and the Wardens to decide whose jurisdiction he falls under or whether they are willing to cede his fate to me,” Fenris replied.

That reminder of Fenris’ standing in the world now rocked Hawke back on his heels and as Fenris watched, he licked his lips and swallowed hard.

“Fenris…”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed. “Do not complete that sentence, Hawke. I doubt there is anything you could say that would not be insulting.” He made a sharp gesture with one hand, ending the discussion. “Any decision I make will be made as the Inquisitor.”

Hawke’s shoulders slumped as Fenris turned away. Dagna had been standing just out of earshot and now she came forward to have a low-voiced discussion with the elven warrior. Hawke watched him for a moment then sighed and turned towards the exit, where he found Cullen watching him calmly.

“I’m… tell him I’ve gone back up,” Hawke said with a grimace.

Cullen nodded but didn’t say anything in reply. Hawke slowly climbed the ladder but instead of heading out into the empty stronghold, he headed up the stairs to the rooms there. He knew that Fenris been far less antagonistic towards Anders towards the end. He would certainly prod and poke at Anders’ sore points but usually only after Anders had started the slanging match. But despite that, he honestly couldn’t predict what his lover might do with the man he nevertheless disliked. 

A few wild plans for helping Anders escape came immediately to mind and while he didn’t exactly dismiss them, he did set them to the side for now. Fenris wasn’t Meredith. He knew that. And he also knew that if he undermined Fenris’ authority here, he might well drive an insurmountable wedge between them. Not that he _wanted_ to undermine Fenris, he just wanted to protect his friends. Which could sometimes be difficult when their needs were in such stark contrast with each other.

He slumped down to sit on the bed and cradled his head in his hands. Somehow, despite everything, it had been so much easier in Kirkwall and that was something he’d never thought he’d ever say.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Anders, what have you gotten yourself into now? Hawke wants to find out but it is pointed out to him that he can't have things every way he wants it. So he makes up for being an idiot.

The healer’s wing was quiet when Hawke made his way down the corridor. It was easy to work out which room Anders was being kept in. The two young Templars standing outside looked very out of place here but he noticed that they weren’t looking bored or lazy. However they also weren’t looking upset or angry. They just looked… professional. It was odd but then Hawke would admit that the Kirkwall Templars probably weren’t a good example to use for the Templars with the Inquisition. In his time here, he’d seen that the Inquisition’s Templars had good discipline and those who were at all dubious were kept in positions well away from the mages. So these two young men were probably not a threat to Anders.

He gave them a nod as he reached for the handle of the door and they simply nodded back, one of them adding a calm “Serah Hawke.” He pushed open the door and stepped into the room. The lighting was low but good enough to see by and Anders lay still and silent on the bed. Hawke closed the door behind him and stared at his fellow mage, just letting his conflicting emotions flow through him for the first time since they’d found Anders two days ago.

Anders was a friend and what’s more, a friend who had saved his brother’s life. But he was also a friend who had lied to him, used him and then committed a terrible, terrible act of unthinkable violence. Hawke had his own grievances and issues with the Chantry and the way they did things but he simply couldn’t condone what Anders had done. Maybe it had been overly optimistic of him but he’d still felt that he could have made Elthina see reason and take appropriate action to rein in Meredith and allow a new Viscount to be appointed. And then to convince her that something needed to be done to fix the problems within the Circle in Kirkwall. But the moment that explosion had occurred, any chance of a peaceful solution to all the problems in the Gallows had gone up with Chantry. 

He sighed and moved over to sit on the chair next to the bed. He really did understand Anders’ complaints about the Chantry. His manifesto might have become something of a running joke but Hawke really _had_ listened to what Anders had been telling him. He’d listened to what Orsino had to say. He’d listened to what every mage had to say. He’d known that Thrask was not the norm among the Templars. He’d known there were problems. But he hadn’t wanted a violent solution to those problems.

Maybe he shouldn’t have let Anders go. Maybe he should have turned him over to the Templars or at the very least the Wardens. But Anders had saved his brother and he’d convinced himself that the mage wouldn’t cause any further harm. Hell, Anders had looked pretty damn broken after it had all happened. Someone who was willing to allow themselves to be killed could hardly be called anything other than broken.

Hawke sighed again and scrubbed his face with one hand. He wished he could actually define his feelings in regards to Anders and what he wanted for the man. He guessed what he really wanted was for Anders to be treated fairly and that Justice would stop goading Anders into actions that weren’t good for anyone, least of all Anders himself.

“Hawke?”

Hawke looked over at the weak question and saw that Anders was awake and staring at him as though he wasn’t sure if he was real or not.

“Hey, Anders.”

Anders frowned. “Are… are you real?”

Hawke swallowed hard and took hold of the mage’s hand. “Yes, I’m real.”

Anders blinked and stared into space for a moment. “Then… earlier… Fenris was real?”

“Yes.”

“The… the Knight-Captain called him Inquisitor.”

Hawke licked his lips. “Yes. Fenris is the Inquisitor. Had you… heard about the Inquisition?”

Anders made a small affirmative motion of his head. “Before… there was…” He looked confused for a moment then coughed a little.

“Do you want something to drink?” Hawke asked.

Anders nodded and Hawke pulled his hand away to pour some water from the jug on the side table into the goblet next to it. He helped Anders drink and the water seemed to do some good for the mage.

“I heard about the Conclave,” Anders said, still sounding weak though his colour was better. “Heard about this Herald of Andraste.” He frowned and snorted. “Fenris?”

Hawke chuckled. “Yeah, he’s not terribly impressed about that title but he has this… mark on his hand. The Anchor, it’s called. It can close the rifts.”

“Magic. Bet he’s thrilled about that,” Anders said sourly.

“He’s not happy about it, no,” Hawke replied. “But he’s managing.”

“He’s the Inquisitor.” Anders looked decidedly unhappy about that. “What’s he going to do with me? Throw me in prison? Bet he’s loving it.”

“What did he say when he was here earlier?” Hawke asked, deflecting the question for the moment.

“Not much to me,” Anders replied. “He and the Knight-Captain were talking to the healer about when they’d be able to talk to me.”

“It’s Commander, by the way,” Hawke said a little wryly. “Cullen’s left the Templars.”

Anders looked dubious. “He didn’t look like it.”

“He’d not wearing the armour anymore.”

“He still looks like a Templar,” Anders said dismissively. “Acts like one too.”

Hawke decided to let that conversational topic go rather than instigate an argument. Anders could be a little… stubborn and blinkered at times.

“How are you feeling?” Hawke hesitated. “And… how’s Justice?”

Anders snorted. “Feel like hell. As for Justice…” He frowned and looked worried. “I… I can’t feel him.”

“What do you mean?” Hawke leaned forward with worry.

“It’s… it’s like he not there anymore.” Anders made a discontented noise and rubbed his face. “I… I don’t know what’s happened.”

Hawke patted Anders’ shoulder and tried to smile reassuringly. He wasn’t sure how convincing he was. “Just get some rest. There’ll be plenty of time to work out what’s going on when you’re better.”

Anders _didn’t_ look terribly convinced but his eyes drifted closed anyway and he slipped into sleep. Hawke watched him for a moment then sighed and got to his feet. He looked down at the mage for a moment then made his way out of the room. He nodded to the Templars at the door then headed for the tavern.

The wave of noise hit him like a club and he felt relief flood through him. This at least was not a problem he had to solve or a worry he had to concern himself with. He got a tankard of ale from the barkeep and made his way over to where the Bull was sitting with his people. He dropped down into a seat next to Krem and slumped down and stared into his ale.

“Tough day?” Krem asked with sympathy.

“I’ve had better,” Hawke replied wryly.

“So that’s Anders,” Bull said idly as he lounged in his chair in a fashion that made Hawke wonder how the piece of furniture was still hanging in there.

“Not what you expected?”

“Nah, the descriptions were pretty accurate,” Bull replied. 

Hawke snorted and took a drink of his ale.

“Noticed you and the boss were circling each other a bit,” Bull observed with an idleness Hawke didn’t believe for a moment.

He sighed. “Just spit it out, Bull.”

Bull gave him a long look then he nodded. “I get that this Anders guy is a friend and you feel some sort of responsibility towards him but the boss has been through a lot. Particularly in the last couple of weeks. Are you sure Anders is worth damaging what you have with him?”

Hawke shot him a slightly irritated look. “Fenris and I have been through a lot together. This isn’t going to damage that.” He got another one of those long, flat looks from Bull and he snapped. “ _What_?”

Bull leaned over to the side, resting his weight lightly against Krem, who seemed entirely used to this as he went on chatting with Rocky without batting an eyelid.

“The boss isn’t as comfortable as he likes to make out he is,” Bull said rather more firmly than he’d been speaking before. “I’d have thought you’d know that. He doesn’t like magic and he’s smack bang in the middle of it. And recently he’s been harassed and kidnapped by a Vint Magister who wants to make him a slave again. So, I ask again… where do your priorities lie?”

Hawke stared at Bull for a moment and then he set his tankard aside and buried his face in his hands with a groan. Bull thumped him companionably on the shoulder a couple of times.

“I’m an idiot,” Hawke groaned.

Bull chuckled. “Eh, we’re all idiots from time to time.”

Hawke straightened up and pushed his tankard aside. “Alright. Never let it be said I’m _that_ dense.”

Hawke gave a wave as he headed off and Bull laughed as Skinner claimed Hawke’s ale. It didn’t take him long to make his way up to Fenris’ rooms where he found his lover sitting at the desk, frowning over some paperwork as he read it laboriously. Just seeing that made Hawke feel a little worse.

“Can I just say I’m an idiot?” he said as he dropped down onto the couch.

Fenris arched an eyebrow. “I think I already knew that,” he said dryly.

“I think I’ve been even more of an idiot this time.” Hawke grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’m just…” He let out his breath in a frustrated hiss. “Worried.”

“I am not going to victimise Anders,” Fenris said acidly. “If I can manage to tolerate Cole, what makes you think I’m going to be irrational about Anders?”

“Because I’m an exceptionally _large_ idiot?” Hawke said plaintively.

Fenris snorted and went back to his paperwork. “Yes, you are.”

Silence settled in the room and Hawke watched his lover for a moment. Bull did kind of have a point. He could see the signs of stress Fenris was showing that he’d missed earlier. He sighed and got to his feet. Never let it be said he wasn’t willing to make amends when he was being a fool. He walked over and settled his hands on Fenris’ shoulders, kneading them slowly and surely. Fenris remained stiff and still for a moment then he sighed and let his head drop forward as he relaxed under Hawke’s touch.

“I’m sorry, love,” Hawke said before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the back of Fenris’ neck. “The last person I was expecting to see turn up at Skyhold was Anders, especially under those circumstances. I guess I just worked myself up, thinking I had to solve everyone else’s problems for them and I forgot that’s not my job anymore.”

Fenris leaned back into his touch and Hawke slid his hands underneath the collar of the shirt he was wearing and down his chest as far as he could manage. He caressed the soft, warm skin, feeling the tingle of the lyrium brands under his fingers. He let the barest hint of magic flow from his fingers into the brands and felt Fenris press against him and moan softly.

“Josephine will have my head if I have not read that report by tomorrow,” Fenris said, clearly trying to sound stern but failing utterly.

“I’ll read it to you later,” Hawke murmured as he leaned down and kissed the side of Fenris’ neck. He let another dribble of magic flow into his lover’s brands and grinned at the obvious reaction he could see in Fenris’ breeches. “You need to relax right now.”

Fenris’ hands came up and pressed against his over the shirt. “You are incorrigible.”

Hawke noticed that Fenris wasn’t exactly pushing him away so he kissed a line down to the juncture of his neck and shoulder then nipped at the warm skin there and sucked a mark into it. Fenris made a breathy noise and tilted his head to allow Hawke better access.

“If this is your way of apologising for being an idiot, you may proceed,” Fenris said, his voice full of lazy amusement.

“It is actually, so I’m glad for that.” 

Hawke slid his hands out from underneath Fenris’ and pulled them out of his shirt. He reached down for the hem of the shirt and began to pull it off. Fenris chuckled, low and deep, just how Hawke liked it and raised his arms to help him. Hawke coaxed his lover to his feet and led him over to the bed. Fenris stretched out on the bed and watched him with heavy-lidded eyes as he stripped off and climbed onto the bed.

Hawke stretched out and lowered himself over Fenris who immediately wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. They stayed like that for a moment and Hawke took the opportunity to nuzzle into the side of Fenris’ neck. He knew Fenris liked this, him being pressed over and around him, and he’d never questioned it. He knew that if Fenris truly wanted to get out from underneath him, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Fenris was not only startlingly strong in his own right, he could also use his abilities against him if he really wanted to. This… well, Hawke had always seen it as a sign of just how much Fenris trusted and loved him.

“Let me take care of you, Fenris,” he murmured into Fenris’ ear before nuzzling and nipping at the delicate tip.

Fenris arched underneath him and groaned. “Yes.”

Hawke grinned and began kissing his way down Fenris’ chest. He could feel the pull of the lyrium brands but he kept his magic to himself for the moment. Instead he concentrated on licking and kissing Fenris’ nipples and mouthing at the lines of the brands until his lover was arching underneath him and grabbing at his shoulders. He seemed torn between pulling him back up to kiss him and pushing him down towards the erection straining at his breeches.

Hawke licked over the brands that surrounded Fenris’ navel then grinned up at him. “What do you want, love?”

“You,” Fenris growled. “Fuck me.”

Hawke leaned up and captured Fenris’ mouth in a kiss. “No, I won’t fuck you. But I will make love to you.”

Fenris deepened the kiss for a moment then he smiled. “Really? Then perhaps you should get on with it.”

Hawke briefly contemplated making a joking comment about Fenris’ current title but just as quickly discarded the idea in a rare case of common sense rearing its head. After all, he was trying to distract Fenris from his responsibilities for a time, not remind him of them.

So instead he went back to tracing his way down Fenris’ torso with his lips, kissing and nipping at the skin and sucking the occasional mark here and there. He made quick work of Fenris’ breeches and then he sat back and stared in admiration. He saw when Fenris shifted uncomfortably and he ran his hands down his lover’s chest.

“Beautiful.”

Fenris scowled but there was a tinge of pink on his cheeks as well. Hawke knew that admiring the brands was a bit of a double-edged sword. On one hand, they were beautiful, both in form and design, but on the other hand, they were the visible reminder of what had been done to Fenris, of what he had once been. They caused Fenris pain and yet he found ways to use them that probably hadn’t been imagined when they’d been placed. They had been forced on him and yet he had reclaimed them as his own. He was just grateful that his touch no longer caused pain to Fenris.

“Get on with it,” Fenris growled but there was a fond affection in that growl that let Hawke know that his lover understood.

Hawke grinned and kept eye contact as he sucked Fenris’ erection into his mouth. Fenris threw his head back and cursed in Tevene as he slid one hand into Hawke’s hair. Hawke took his time and drew Fenris to the edge again and again before he finally slicked himself and slid home in his lover’s body. They moved against each other in a steady, familiar rhythm until first Fenris then Hawke fell over the edge into completion. They rested against each other until they caught their breath then Hawke got up to get a cloth to clean them up. On the way back from discarding the cloth, he picked up the report Fenris had been reading. 

“I thought you were joking,” Fenris said as he settled on the bed and watched Hawke walk over.

Hawke climbed back onto the bed and snuggled up next to his lover. “Nope.” He looked at the report and raised an eyebrow. “The Orlesian court?”

Fenris groaned and slouched down so that he was half-curled around Hawke. “We have to attend to masquerade ball. Josephine insists that I am word perfect on the structure and people of the court.”

Hawke laughed and wrapped an arm around him. “What fun. Alright, here we go.”

He began reading the report from where Fenris had left off, affecting a mock Orlesian accent that had his lover snorting with amusement on a regular basis.

Hawke came to a halt and rolled his eyes. “Maker, this is dry. I need a drink.”

“There is wine on the shelf,” Fenris said, settling back against the pillows.

“Of course there is.” Hawke grinned and leaped out of bed to fetch the wine and some goblets.

Fenris watched him move around the room, bring the wine and goblets back and pour the wine for both of them. He took the goblet offered and took a drink.

“You haven’t said anything about Anders yet,” he said in a neutral tone.

Hawke smiled a little. “I thought you were the one who instigated the rule about not talking about him in the bedroom.”

“Hawke.”

Hawke sighed and sipped at his wine. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think. I went to see him today and…” He shook his head. “I want to protect him from his own stupidity but I don’t want to undermine you.”

Fenris looked at Hawke soberly. “I intend to hear him out when he’s well enough. I want to know how he ended up in the hands of a Magister.”

“What will you do with him?”

Fenris drained his goblet and set it aside. “That depends on whether I… or rather Josephine… can talk everyone into handing him over to the Inquisition.”

A wave of relief flooded through Hawke at that. Fenris had conscripted the rebel mages but treated them fairly and justly despite his feelings about mages. Surely that boded well for what he would do with Anders? If he could treat the mages well, surely he would do the same with Anders in spite of their mutual antipathy.

He picked up the bottle of wine and refilled Fenris’ goblet. He held it out to his lover and once Fenris had taken it, he settled back in the bed and picked up the report again.

“Shall we?” he said, waving the report around.

Fenris gave him a long look then he relaxed back against Hawke and sipped his wine as he listened to the melodramatic rendition of the very dry and dreary report.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Information needs to be gained from Anders and decisions need to be made. Anders is not sure what to make of all of this, he just hates that it's Fenris who has such power over him.

When Anders was escorted into Josephine’s office by the pair of Templars, Fenris wasn’t surprised to see the truculent expression on his face, an expression that didn’t disappear even when Fenris dismissed the Templars with a nod. He’d thought long and hard about where to do this and who to have with him. The main hall had been right out. This was likely to be unpleasant and the less their guests knew about what was going on with Anders, the better. In the end, Josephine’s office was simply the largest place that also offered privacy and the Ambassador had been more than willing to allow him to use it.

Who to have there had been another question. Hawke had been obvious in order to try and keep the peace. His advisors had been next on the list. After some thought, he’d asked Solas to be there for his expertise in magic, the Fade and spirits and finally – and with great reluctance – he’d also included Cole given that he was a spirit and might be able to sort out what was going on with Justice. The young man made his skin crawl but he seemed quite earnest and Solas had vouched for him. Fenris might not trust Cole but he _did_ trust Solas. 

“So is it my turn to face judge, jury and executioner?” Anders snapped bitterly, though even Fenris could see the weary despair in his eyes.

“You are here because I want to know how you ended up in a red lyrium cage in the foundations of Skyhold,” Fenris said, struggling to control the snarl that was threatening. The last thing he was in the mood to deal with was Anders’ self-pity.

“Why should I tell _you_?”

The mood in the room became decidedly chilly and more than one person shifted on their feet and looked ready to tell Anders precisely what they thought of that question. Fenris held up one hand to keep them silent and leaned forward.

“Because I am the only person keeping you from the hangman’s noose right now,” he growled. “And because whoever left you there also decided to kidnap me and sell me into slavery again. Not that I expect _you_ to care about the latter.”

He saw the way Anders twitched at that last bit and a cold smirk settled on his face. He’d always suspected that Anders would have been quite happy if Danarius had reclaimed him and dragged him back to Tevinter. The mage’s hypocrisy about Fenris’ slavery was staggering given how much he squawked on about the mistreatment of mages.

“Anders,” Hawke said softly. “It was red lyrium. We need to know.”

A myriad of emotions ran across Anders’ face then he sighed and slumped where he was standing.

“I don’t know. I was in Antiva and I was knocked over the head one night when I was leaving town. They kept me chained and blindfolded and never spoke much around me. They were also dosing me with some sort of potion.”

“Interesting,” Leliana said softly. “They did much the same to you, Inquisitor. It seems they are very conscious of not being identified.”

“They identified the Magister in my hearing,” Fenris replied.

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “Did they?”

Fenris sat back and thought. He shuddered a little at the memory then felt Hawke’s warm hand on his shoulder.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Or at least, there was one… he sounded oily. Like a merchant or nobleman. He mentioned Magister Marcinius and implied he’d met him.” He frowned. “No, that he’d met the Magister’s agents.”

“So we still don’t know whether the Magister is truly involved,” Cullen mused.

“Felix is due to arrive any day,” Josephine said. “He may have some answers from Dorian’s friend.”

Fenris nodded then turned his attention back to Anders. “What of the red lyrium? When did you first become aware of it?”

Anders had been watching everyone closely and when he answered it was with a troubled expression. “Only when they brought me here. I was in a cart and I could feel it nearby. Then they dragged me out of the cart and down to wherever I was. That was when they put me in that red lyrium cage and took the blindfold off. I didn’t see them though. The red lyrium…” He broke off and shuddered. “I’ve never felt it like that, even when we were in that old Thaig in the Deep Roads.”

“Dagna has reported that the refining process does seem strengthen it in some way,” Cullen said.

Fenris nodded. “And what of Justice?”

“What of him?” Anders said, looking defensive and wary.

“Is he still with you?” Fenris said sharply.

Anders hesitated then he shrugged. “I don’t know. I… can’t feel him. I haven’t been able to since I was put in that cage.”

Fenris and Hawke exchanged glances then Fenris looked over to where Solas and Cole were standing.

“Could either of you tell?”

“Not without dreaming,” Solas replied. “But Cole may be able to.”

“Cole?”

“I can try,” the young man said softly. He stepped forward towards Anders, who immediately flinched backwards.

“Who is he?”

“Cole is a spirit of Compassion,” Solas replied. “Not a case of possession but a spirit who has somehow emerged from the Fade and made himself flesh and blood.”

Anders watched warily as Cole closed the gap between them. When the spirit placed a hand on his chest, he actually flinched, something Cole also did.

“Deep, dark, damaged,” Cole murmured. “Red, singing, ringing. Down deep and hide. Torn and tearing. Return or die, stay and kill.”

Anders lurched backwards. “What the hell?”

Solas spared him the barest glance as he came to stand beside Cole. He placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Easy, Cole. Tell us what you felt.”

Cole frowned and ducked his head. “Justice is there, deep inside. He is damaged. It was the red lyrium. So much of it, so strong and loud. He doesn’t know how. He just knows that if he stays now, he will kill Anders. But he can’t go. He can’t find his way back to the Fade. Like me! But he wants to go. He will be whole again in the Fade. He cannot help here, only hurt. Justice can only become Vengeance and cause pain and hurt and abominations. He does not want to stay. He says he has hurt Anders too much.”

“Is there any way to get him back to the Fade?” Solas asked.

Cole shook his head. “I don’t know. The rifts only go one way. Out. Out to here. I don’t how to get back after I got here.”

“What about the rifts that Fenris can create now from the anchor?” Hawke asked. “They seem to suck demons into them so they must go back to the Fade.”

“They also damage people when I use it on them,” Fenris said dryly. “Even kill them.”

Anders snorted and opened his mouth but any reply was lost when Hawke cleared his throat.

“Whatever you were going to say, Anders? Don’t.”

Anders subsided and Fenris rolled his eyes. Solas looked faintly amused then he drew the Inquisitor’s attention.

“The rifts you create do seem to lead back to the Fade. Though they are somewhat uncontrolled and chaotic, which is likely why they cause so much damage. But there is a possibility that we may be able to find a way to stabilise them for enough time for Justice to return home.”

Fenris nodded. “Cole. You said that Justice says he will kill Anders. What did you mean?”

“Justice is damaged, not whole,” Cole replied. “If he hides and sees nothing and does nothing, Anders is safe. But if Justice sees and moves and acts, his damage will spread until he is a demon and Anders will be no more. He is hiding deep now but Anders’ magic calls to him. The more he uses his magic, the less time Justice has.”

Anders frowned. “I’m not sure I know how to not use my magic. Besides I’m a healer, I can’t just… _not_ …”

“Cole,” Fenris said firmly. “Is it all magic that calls Justice or just certain types?”

Cole frowned and stepped over to Anders, placing his hand on his chest again. Anders looked a little wild-eyed but he stayed where he was. Cole was silent and still for a moment then he stepped back.

“He will ignore healing magic,” the spirit boy said. “He knows that magic. That magic serves his purpose in its way and he can ignore it.”

“Can you refrain from using magic other than healing magic?” Fenris asked.

Anders scowled. “I don’t know.”

“I’d suggest a Templar escort,” Cullen said with a grimace. “But the only Templar I have that I’d trust with the job is Rylen and I need him where he is. The rest are either too inexperienced to be able to judge the situation properly or they’re too set in their ways.” He paused and sighed. “Or they’re from Kirkwall.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You have Templars from Kirkwall here?”

“A bare handful,” Cullen replied. “Most I wouldn’t have accepted even if they’d wanted to come. The ones I have are mostly those who were just out of training. But they’re young and everything that happened after the explosion at the Chantry shook them deeply. They’re open-minded, good men and women, but…” He snorted. “They’re young and prone to being rash. Rylen has them, in the hopes the Western Approach can beat most of that rashness out of them.”

“What about that Templar I travelled with on the way here?” Hawke said suddenly. “Uh, what’s his name? The one that’s in love with the pretty mage.”

“Ser Theo?” Cullen looked surprised then he hummed thoughtfully. “Actually he might be a good choice.”

“Where is he?” Fenris asked.

“He and Enchanter Lorelai were assigned to the Hinterlands,” Cullen replied. “Enchanter Lorelai is a very skilled alchemist and supervises our supplies of herbs from that region but she could be replaced if you need Ser Theo here.”

Fenris turned to Josephine. “Will the promise of supervision from both the Templars and the Circle under the auspices of the Inquisition be enough to get the Free Marches, Fereldan and Orlais off our backs?”

Josephine smiled secretively. “I believe so. It will be little trouble to _avoid_ informing them that said supervision consists of one Templar and one rebel Enchanter.”

“I’ll speak to Madame Vivienne,” Leliana said. “Along with Cullen, I’m sure the three of us can make the supervision look more formidable to the representatives here in Skyhold than it truly is.”

“Given the mess the Wardens are in, I don’t think we need to contact them,” Cullen said dryly. “If anyone asks, we can always get Stroud or Blackwall to issue some sort of judgement. They both have enough seniority in the Wardens for anything they say to be considered authoritative.”

Leliana smirked. “Besides, rightfully, any judgement from the Wardens should come from Anders’ Warden-Commander and she’s somewhat difficult to contact right now.”

Fenris frowned and looked over at Anders. “Have you been hearing it? The false Calling?”

“What false Calling?” Anders asked.

“Justice keeps it quiet,” Cole interjected. “It is wrong. The taint has not progressed far enough for it to be right.”

“Okay,” Anders said, inching away from Cole with a slightly wild-eyed look. “So what’s this about a false Calling?”

“Corypheus is putting some sort of false Calling into the heads of the Wardens and they’re all acting like idiots,” Hawke said.

“Corypheus?” Anders’ looked startled. “That Magister darkspawn thing you told me about? The one in the Grey Warden prison you went to? Didn’t you say he was dead?”

“He was,” Hawke said unhappily. “Now he isn’t. He’s the reason Fenris has that mark. The Anchor is what he called it.”

Anders looked at Fenris’ hand for the first time and saw the quiescent green mark in the palm of his left hand. “What does it do?”

“Corypheus intended to use it to tear open the Fade and enter the Golden City,” Fenris said a little stiffly. “I can use it to close the rifts and the Breach.”

“It is likely the reason the Inquisitor survived being thrown into the Fade by the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas said quietly.

Anders frowned. “What were _you_ doing at the Conclave?”

“Following some Tevinter Magisters,” Fenris replied. “I was curious as to why Magisters were so far into Fereldan territory. As for how I came to be the one with the mark and not anyone else, I cannot say. I have no memory of the events at the Temple.”

Fenris’ expression became stony and once again Hawke’s hand found its way to his shoulder. Anders saw both actions and he looked troubled. 

“Enough,” Fenris said with a sharp gesture of one hand. “On the understanding that the Free Marches, Orlais and Fereldan will cede any claims to Anders to the Inquisition, he will be confined to Skyhold under the supervision of Ser Theo and Enchanter Lorelai. Cullen, you will see that both of them are recalled to Skyhold immediately and briefed on their new duties.”

“At once, Inquisitor,” Cullen said with a nod.

“Josephine, find him some appropriate quarters, preferably away from those of our guests,” Fenris continued. “And Leliana, keep an eye on things. I don’t want to give anyone reason to challenge us on this.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Leliana replied as Josephine murmured her agreement.

Fenris then fixed a glare on Anders. “And might I remind you, before you start thinking of ways to escape or otherwise destroy things, that the Inquisition is all that stands between you and the hangman’s noose or the executioner’s axe. The healers here can certainly use your assistance and you can work with Solas to find a way to help Justice.”

Anders’ chin went up and for a moment it looked like he wanted to argue or to rail against the decision that had been made. But two things stopped him. The first was the fact that, from their expressions, no one in the room much cared about his opinion. Even Hawke looked like he was silently imploring Anders to agree. The second was the realisation that Fenris’ decision was quite fair and reasonable and actually protected him from anyone who wanted to see him pay for the events in Kirkwall. And Fenris didn’t much like him. He was a bit ashamed to realise that he wasn’t sure he would have been so fair if their positions were reversed.

“Very well.” He hesitated then ground out reluctantly, “Inquisitor.”

That seemed to break the impasse in the room. Cullen gave a nod to Fenris and hurried out of the room towards his office. Leliana followed him while Josephine waited patiently. Hawke murmured something into Fenris’ ear then when the elf nodded, he spoke briefly to Josephine and came over to Anders.

“Come on. Let’s get you settled in.”

Solas caught their attention. “Perhaps we may speak this afternoon, Anders?”

Anders nodded and Solas and Cole also left. When he turned around, Fenris was speaking with Josephine and he looked at Hawke.

“So I’m a prisoner here now, am I?” he said bitterly.

Hawke ushered him out of the room and towards the quarters Josephine had indicated. “I don’t think Fenris would actually stop you if you tried to leave but he also wouldn’t protect you under those circumstances.”

Anders grimaced. “So why _is_ he protecting me? He hates me.”

“He stopped hating you a long time ago,” Hawke said soothingly. “He thinks you’re an idiot and a lunatic and he doesn’t _like_ you very much but he doesn’t _hate_ you. Besides, it wasn’t Fenris making that decision, it was the Inquisitor and if Fenris has proven anything as Inquisitor, it’s that he’ll be fair.”

“By conscripting the rebel mages?” Anders said indignantly.

“I was worried about that as well when I first heard about it,” Hawke admitted. “But then I met Lorelai and her beau, Ser Theo, and some of the other mages and… it’s actually been quite beneficial. It’s appeased the Bannorn in Fereldan because as far as they’re concerned, the mages who betrayed them to a Tevinter Magister are _under control_ but the reality is that they actually have more freedom here than they ever would have in the Circle.”

Anders snorted and Hawke rolled his eyes.

“Look, talk to Lorelai and Theo when they get here,” he said with a hint of exasperation. “Lorelai was one of the rebels so she’ll be able to give you an unvarnished opinion. And don’t be too hard on Theo. He’s young and very earnest and idealistic and he’s madly in love with Lorelai and they’re adorable together.”

“A Templar and a mage.” Anders shook his head. “That’s dangerous.”

“In a Circle maybe,” Hawke replied. “But Cullen’s proven that if anything happens, he’ll listen to both sides, investigate thoroughly and make a fair decision. I think he’s seen enough to not allow any abuses to happen here. He really _has_ left the Templars, you know.”

“Sure he has,” Anders said dubiously. “So who holds his leash now?”

“He does,” Hawke replied. “Well, he answers to Fenris but he _is_ one of the Advisors along with Leliana and Josephine.” He grinned. “Those are two very scary women and they like Cullen so watch yourself.” His grin widened. “Besides, apparently there’s something going on between Cullen and Dorian so he really has changed.”

“Who’s Dorian?”

“A Tevinter mage who has come to help.” Hawke snorted. “He and Cullen play chess together. I’ve seen it. It seems to involve a lot more flirting and suggestive comments on Dorian’s part and blushing and shy smiles on Cullen’s part than actual chess.” He snickered. “It’s _adorable_.”

Anders looked at him with disbelief and Hawke laughed. “I’ll show you some time. It’s glorious to watch.” He gestured grandly to the door they’d just reached then opened it. “And here are your quarters.”

Anders walked inside hesitantly then his jaw dropped. It was only a single room with a door to a shared bathroom and privy but it had a comfortable bed, a large desk and a small table with two chairs tucked under the window. It was comfortably appointed and it was warm and open. What’s more there were no guards and he could lock the door from the inside if he wanted.

“Not so much a prisoner, eh?” Hawke said, patting him on the shoulder with a knowing expression. “I’ll let you get settled in.”

Anders nodded numbly and barely heard the door close behind him as he walked around the room he’d been given.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look! Felix has arrived. He has information and Stroud has a lifeline for him. Also there's some hints he's making googly eyes at someone.

Felix’s arrival the next day was almost something of an anti-climax except that the young man looked considerably worse than when they’d last seen him in Redcliffe to the point where the Inquisition soldiers at the last camp had been alarmed enough to insist on constructing a litter and carrying him up the mountain. Felix looked rather embarrassed by the fuss but when he had to lean heavily on Dorian when he climbed off the litter, Fenris nodded his approval to the soldiers.

“Inquisitor, it’s good to see you again,” Felix said when Fenris walked over.

“I’d say the same but you look terrible,” Fenris replied.

Felix chuckled. “I do, don’t I? I never quite expected to last this long, even with everything Father was doing.”

“I’d suggest letting you rest before meeting with Stroud but on the whole, I think you should go now.”

“I’ll take him up,” Dorian said. He looked worried and a little frantic. 

“No, later,” Felix said firmly. “I have some information you need to hear, Inquisitor.”

Fenris gave Felix an assessing look then nodded. “Take him up to Stroud and Carver’s room, Dorian. I’ll join you with the others. Felix can give us his news then talk with Stroud.”

Dorian shot him a look of gratitude as he guided Felix towards the stairs up towards the battlements. Fenris returned to the main building and collected his advisors and Hawke. When they got to Wardens’ room, he found an interesting tableau. Felix had been ensconced on one of the beds and Dorian was sitting on the other while Stroud sat in a chair. The two of them were talking quietly. Carver was leaning against the wall and he and Felix kept sneaking glances at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. From the gleam in Stroud’s eyes, he was aware of the byplay and highly amused by it. Fenris decided he didn’t want to know and sat down in the remaining chair as Hawke and his advisors spread out around the room.

“You said you had news.”

Felix nodded. “I’m not sure if it’s good news or bad news though. Magister Aquila Marcinius is the man who inherited from Danarius but he’s not the one who’s been causing trouble.”

“How sure are you?” Leliana asked.

“Very sure,” Felix replied. “Maevaris invited him over to dinner and I was there as well. We sort of skirted around the topic for a while because we weren’t sure of him but as it turns out, Marcinius is something of a political moderate.” He grimaced. “Of sorts anyway.” He waved a hand. “But that’s beside the point. Once we realised he wasn’t a member of the Venatori, Maevaris got rather blunt.” He looked over at Fenris. “He actually had no idea what Danarius had done to you. He knew of you but he said he’d barely ever seen you.”

Fenris nodded. “That is true. I was rarely allowed to be around when he visited. It was… unusual.”

“That agrees with what he said,” Felix said. “Apparently Danarius was presenting himself a little differently to his cousin than he was to everyone else. Marcinius was under the impression that you were some sort of body slave that Danarius had had tattooed for… aesthetic reasons. He had no idea the brands were made of lyrium. He was genuinely appalled.”

“Good of him,” Hawke said dryly.

“It was rather,” Felix replied. He waved a hand at Dorian and the mage dropped a bag on the bed next to Felix. He rooted around in it for a moment and pulled out a rolled up parchment and held it out. “Under the circumstances, he was more than willing to write out the Proclamation of Freedom and lodge it with the authorities and make the requisite announcement in the Magisterium to make sure everyone knows you are free. Which will undermine whoever is _actually_ trying to harm you very nicely. That’s your copy, by the way.”

Fenris hesitated for a moment then took the roll of parchment. He stared at it then slowly unrolled it. He’d heard of these sorts of documents, of the Proclamation of Freedom, but never actually seen one before. He’d often thought they were a myth designed to placate slaves and keep them quiet but here it was, the piece of parchment declaring him free and owned by no one. The last rusted chain that kept him tied to his old life had been shattered.

“He’s also willing to work with Maevaris to discover who has been using his name to try and get to you,” Felix continued quietly. “He’s not terribly impressed with that since it ties him to the Venatori and he’d rather not have anything to do with them.” He snorted. “He’d been wondering why he’d been receiving various invitations from people he’d rather avoid. Arch-conservatives mostly.”

Fenris nodded but wasn’t able to summon anything to say as he stared at the Proclamation.

“I would call all of that good news,” Leliana said into the silence. “It tells us who our enemy is _not_ and that is often just as valuable as know who it _is_.”

Fenris gave a shake of his head. “Look to Magisters who frequented Seheron. We spent most of our time there.”

“I’ll let Maevaris know,” Dorian said.

“She’s already started ferreting around,” Felix added. “But anything else we can tell her will help her narrow things down.”

“I’ll organise that,” Leliana said.

A silence fell in the room and Stroud raised an eyebrow at the three advisors. They took the hint and left. Hawke watched them go and gave Stroud an uneasy look.

“Do you want me to go?”

Stroud hesitated. “If you would not mind, Hawke. I do not mean to be rude but I would prefer to keep Warden’s business as private as possible.”

Hawke smiled. “That’s okay.” He gripped Fenris’ shoulder then gently pulled the parchment from his hands. “Let me take that, love. I’ll sort it out.”

Fenris let it go and stared at his empty hand as Hawke left the room.

“What about me?” Dorian asked.

“Um, stay?” Felix said hurriedly before looking over at Stroud.

The Warden smiled slightly and nodded. He waited until Fenris shook himself out of his introspection before he continued.

“The Inquisitor tells me you were Blighted, Felix. May I ask how long ago this was?”

“Three years ago,” Felix said promptly. “9:38.”

Stroud looked surprised. “And you still live and are not a ghoul,” he murmured more to himself than to Felix. “I was told you have been… sustained during this time.”

Felix nodded. “My father and Dorian – before he had a falling out with my father – worked on a series of potions and spells that have held back the Blight.” He rubbed his face. “Unfortunately I have no great facility with potion making or magic so I haven’t been able to keep up with that regimen.”

“Why didn’t you say something before you left Redcliffe?” Dorian demanded. “I would have made more of the potions at the very least.”

Felix grimaced. “What happened in Redcliffe happened because Father was so obsessed with keeping me alive, Dorian. I felt that… I should just accept that my time had come.”

“And yet you returned now,” Stroud said.

“Dorian was very insistent.” Felix smiled slightly. “I’m not suicidal, Warden Stroud. I don’t _want_ to die. But there are worse things than dying. Becoming a ghoul is one of those things. Seeing the lengths my Father was willing to go to in order to try and save me was another.”

Stroud nodded then he straightened. “The Joining is not a cure nor is it a guarantee. You may not survive. If you do, you will have more time. Two decades most likely, maybe three. It’s always hard to tell but you will die before your time.”

Felix snorted. “I’m already doing that. And if I die during the Joining, well, I’m dying _now_. A few days earlier isn’t going to make much of a difference.”

Fenris winced at that blunt assessment and he saw the sorrow and pain that flashed over Dorian’s face before the mage controlled his expression. Stroud nodded slowly and looked over to Carver.

“Fetch the vial and goblet for me, Carver, and would you be so kind as to speak the words when we are ready.”

Carver hurried over to the small table on the opposite side of the room. He returned with a small vial full of red liquid and a beautiful yet simple goblet and handed them to Stroud. The older Warden poured the contents of the vial into the goblet and got to his feet.

“Darkspawn blood,” Stroud said. “Those who survive the Joining master the taint and gain the advantages of being a Warden. We speak only a few words before the Joining but these words have been said since the first. Carver?”

The younger Hawke brother stood tall and proud and Fenris saw a man who had come into his own, no longer in the shadow of his brother.

“Join us, brother,” he said solemnly. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice shall not be forgotten and that one day, we shall join you.”

Stroud held the goblet out to Felix, who took it and with only the barest hesitation, drank. For a moment, nothing happened then Felix surged forward and grabbed at his throat. His eyes went white and he gasped a few times before he slumped back on the bed and passed out.

“Felix!” Dorian gasped, lunging forward.

“Peace,” Stroud said, catching the mage by the shoulder. “It goes well.”

They waited in silence and after a few minutes, Felix groaned and his eyes flickered open. Stroud leaned over him and grasped his shoulder.

“Welcome, brother.”

Felix managed a small smile and with the Warden’s help, he sat up. He looked a little startled as he ran a hand down his face.

“Felix?” Dorian said, his voice full of worry.

Felix smiled at him. “I’m… I’m alright, Dorian.” He gave a small laugh. “In fact, I haven’t felt this good in at least a year.” He frowned. “What’s that… song? I can barely hear it and it fades in and out but it’s… it’s there.”

“That is the false Calling,” Stroud said. “It is strong indeed if you can hear it so soon after your Joining.”

Felix shuddered. “I think I’ll try not to listen to it then.”

“A wise move,” Stroud said, looking faintly amused. “Now I think it is time for you to rest. Your body has been under great strain for some time and though the Joining will make things better, your body needs time to recover. Carver, will you stay and watch over our new brother? No doubt Dorian will wish to stay as well.”

Stroud raised an eyebrow at the younger Warden and Fenris got the distinct impression they were talking about something other than a simple kindness.

“Of course,” Carver said with a faint tinge of pink to his cheeks, a hue that was matched by the one on Felix’s face.

Fenris looked between them and somehow managed to not smirk. Something must have shown on his face nonetheless as he was suddenly on the receiving end of an imploring look from Carver. It didn’t take much to figure out what that look meant and he gave a small shake of his head as he smiled faintly. He didn’t intend to tell Hawke about what he’d seen. Carver read the response correctly and heaved a sigh of relief. Fenris’ amusement deepened. He didn’t blame Carver for his reaction. Hawke always meant well but he and Carver were very different people and Hawke didn’t always understand what that meant when it came to dealing with his brother.

He got to his feet and joined Stroud as they headed out of the room. From the look on the Warden’s face, he was well aware of all the byplay that had been going on and knew what it meant. He waited until they were well out of earshot of the room to speak.

“It is good of you not to mention their… interest to Carver’s brother.”

Fenris snorted. “Hawke hasn’t quite figured out yet that Carver doesn’t react well to his usual form of teasing.”

Stroud looked interested. “Did they not grow up together?”

“They did. Carver was the only warrior in a family of three mages.”

“Ah,” Stroud said with understanding. “That explains much.” 

They walked along the battlements in silence for a while. Fenris had the suspicion that there was more Stroud wished to talk about so he subtly steered them towards one of the less well-patrolled sections. When they got there, they stopped and stared out at the vista.

“You were very lenient with Anders,” the Warden said after a while.

“You know him, don’t you?”

Stroud nodded. “Not well but… well enough.” He sighed and shook his head. “I am not entirely certain of Warden-Commander Cousland’s wisdom in making him a Warden but… I suspect she saw something in him that I cannot.”

“He was different then from what I understand,” Fenris said with only the barest contemptuous curl of his lip.

“Yes, before Justice,” Stroud said heavily. “I… applaud Anders’ loyalty to his friend even as I deplore the lack of wisdom in what he did. Though I imagine neither of them had any idea what the true consequences of that decision would be.”

“I would say that even the smallest modicum of sense would tell you not to allow yourself to become possessed,” Fenris said with some rancour.

Stroud looked amused. “Perhaps. Wardens have always looked at the world a little differently.”

Fenris shot him a sceptical look. “Like using blood magic?”

Stroud inclined his head. “Yes. We have never shied away from using whatever methods are necessary to defeat the Blight.” He sighed and shook his head. “Perhaps it is something we should have considered more seriously.”

“Perhaps the Wardens wouldn’t be in the mess they are now if you had,” Fenris replied sharply. “The only thing blood magic leads to is evil. No matter how good the intentions are of those who use it, it inevitably leads to evil.”

Stroud raised an eyebrow. “You seem very certain about that.”

“I am from Tevinter,” Fenris growled. “I have seen what blood mages do.” He shook his head. He didn’t particularly like harking back to his time in Tevinter but if that’s what it took to educate this Warden, he would do it. “Many Magisters start out with good intentions. They say they will only use their own blood and only use blood magic rarely. Only when necessary. But the power blood magic provides is great and from what I have seen, it is also… addictive. No, perhaps it is better to say that it is intoxicating. My former master used blood magic and I saw him many times after using it. His face… he looked drunk and euphoric. And the power it provides is a magnitude more than the normal power a mage has. Because the power comes from the blood and not their internal store of mana. So when you combine the power from the blood with their own mana, you get something large.”

He snorted and started to pace a little to let some of his agitation bleed away in the physical movement.

“Inevitably something arises to allow them to justify the sacrifice of a slave.” Fenris growled. “They _always_ find a reason. And then they find the true power of blood magic. They are limited in how much of their own blood they can shed without weakening themselves to point of unconsciousness but a slave? What does it matter if they drain a slave of all their blood? It’s just a slave.” He turned a pointed look at Stroud. “Or a bandit. Or a criminal. Or a poor man selling himself so that his family can eat one more day. Or a fool Warden thinking he is sacrificing himself for something worthwhile.” He waved a hand contemptuously. “It only escalates from there.”

Stroud looked troubled. “And all blood mages fall victim to this?”

“All I have known.” He paused and scowled. “Bar one. The mage Merrill.”

“How has she escaped?”

Fenris snorted. “I have no idea.” He shook his head. “She is… odd.”

He frowned then, remembering some of the things she’d said about spirits and demons. They echoed some of the things Solas had said. He’d thought Merrill was deluded but… perhaps she wasn’t? He was reluctant to trust anything a blood mage said, even one like Merrill, but Solas… Solas had proven he was worthy of Fenris’ trust.

“I shall keep this in mind,” Stroud said, shaking Fenris out of his thoughts. “And take it to Weisshaupt once we have dealt with Adamant. I cannot promise the Wardens will change their ways but I will have the information placed on record.”

Fenris was just gratified that Stroud sounded troubled and thoughtful instead of dismissing what he had said as the bias of a former slave, as had happened in the past. Not that he expected anything to come of it. The blood mages within the Wardens would undoubtedly argue against what he had to say and being Wardens, their words would be given more weight. But at least his words would be on record so they could never say they hadn’t been warned.

“We’re almost ready to head to Adamant,” he said. “Will you bring Felix along?”

Stroud shook his head. “No. I’m concerned about what effect such a long exposure to the Blight will have had on him. The Joining should see him right but he needs time to recover. Carver will stay here with him.”

Fenris raised a dubious eyebrow at Stroud. “I wish you joy in telling him that news.”

“It will not go down well,” Stroud said in amused agreement. “This is not a Blight but it is a bad situation nonetheless. With the state of the Wardens as it is, I cannot leave one so new to everything alone. Should things go badly at Adamant, Carver has been a Warden for long enough to be able to oversee Felix’s transition and teach him what he needs to know.”

“If things go badly at Adamant, Felix’s newness to the ranks will be the least of our problems,” Fenris said sourly then he gave Stroud a narrow-eyed look. “But that is not the entire reason, is it?”

Stroud chuckled. “You are correct.” He sobered. “Whether events at Adamant go well for the Inquisition or not, it will be unpleasant. Carver was not there when I spoke out against Clarel. He did not see the fear and desperation that drove her to the madness she has chosen. Carver has come into his own as a Warden and I would not have that soured by the foolishness that desperation brings.”

“He won’t like that.”

“I know.” The amusement was back on Stroud’s face. “But I am his senior. He must obey.”

Fenris made a mental note to keep Hawke away from his brother after Stroud had given him the news. As always, Hawke would mean well but all he was likely to do was set a spark to Carver’s fuse and as entertaining as a spat between Hawke and his brother could be, now was not the time.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adamant. Or more specifically, the Fade. Which Fenris does not enjoy, as much because Hawke is apparently _suicidal_ as because it reeks of magic. There is yelling and hurt feelings and surprisingly, it is Dorian who provides some perspective.

The last place Fenris had ever wanted to go back to was the Fade. His previous excursion there to deal with Feynriel had not gone well and that had at least only been in a dream. This was real. He was truly here again… for the second time. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as he listened to the others talk. Hawke was being… Hawke and Solas sounded _thrilled_ but at least Cassandra and Varric seemed to share his disquiet. Stroud was just grim.

Fenris had been silent and grim himself as they fought their way through the Fade and dealt with… whatever it was that was masquerading as the Divine. He’d taken his cue from Cassandra when it had come to that thing. Whatever it truly was, Cassandra seemed convinced that it was at least behaving like the Divine would have so despite his reluctance, he’d done what it had asked and it had gotten them through to the Nightmare demon itself. Though even the spirit’s involvement in getting his memories back hadn’t lifted his suspicion.

The battle was one of the most difficult Fenris had ever faced. The demon, even in this reduced form, was powerful and slippery, prone to jumping all over the battlefield. But he gritted his teeth and pressed onwards, flashing into and out of sight as they slowly wore the thing down. Finally, it fell and the way out was open to them. Fenris sent Cassandra, Solas and Varric on ahead as he gathered up Hawke and Stroud and then they found their way blocked by the massive spidery form of the Nightmare demon itself.

Stroud braced himself. “I shall draw it off, Inquisitor. You and Hawke must go.”

“No.” Hawke took a step towards the demon, his face fixed and angry. “This is my fault. Corypheus is my fault. I should do this.”

Fenris went cold at those words and for a moment, it felt as if everything around him went a little dim and grey. Drawing off the demon was a death sentence. Only a fool wouldn’t realise that and Hawke was not a fool. He was _willingly_ volunteering to stay in the Fade and leave him.

In a flash, that coldness turned to white-hot rage. His markings flared to life and his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. Hawke saw none of this but Stroud did. The Warden stepped forward and took hold of Hawke’s shoulder.

“ _No_. The fault for Corypheus lies with the Wardens who hid him and forced an innocent mage into blood magic to imprison him.” Stroud raised his chin defiantly. “So a _Warden_ will be the one to end this madness. It is your duty to protect that which is most important to you.”

Stroud exerted his strength and spun Hawke around to face the still-furious Fenris. Hawke winced at the raging fury that was obvious not only on his lover’s face but also in his body language.

“Inquisitor! Go!”

Stroud gave Hawke one last shove towards Fenris and then took off towards the gigantic spider. Fenris watched him go then he grabbed Hawke’s arm in a bruising grip and started dragging him towards the rift. After a moment, Hawke started running and Fenris let him go. They leapt through the rift and when Fenris had skidded to a halt, he turned and raised his hand, closing the rift in a sharp angry gesture.

Fenris’ rage simmered in the aftermath of the closing of the rift, as he dealt with the Wardens, taking them under the Inquisition’s auspices. It continued as he consulted with Cullen about the mopping up. He knew the others could see the anger lurking under the surface but none of them knew the reason why, though from the way Varric was looking between him and Hawke, _he_ at least had an idea of the cause.

Finally Fenris was able to get away after giving Cassandra orders to see everyone else in his group back to the camp and he stalked out of the shattered fortress. He took a route in the opposite direction to the camp, assuming that any bandits or Venatori or whatever else might be in the area would have long since run away. He knew Hawke was following him and this confrontation was better held away from any of the soldiers.

He came to a halt some distance from the fortress and grounded the point of his sword firmly in the sand and dirt. It would probably be for the best if he wasn’t holding it right now.

“You were going to stay,” he growled, his voice low and almost feral.

Hawke winced. “I… well…” he began then he stumbled to a verbal halt.

“You _wanted_ to stay.”

“No!” Hawke yelped, his eyes wide with shock. “No… Fenris…” He held out one hand and took a few steps closer but then stopped when Fenris flinched away from him. “I didn’t _want_ to stay, I just…”

“You were going to throw your life away for something that is _not… your… fault_ ,” Fenris hissed, his markings lighting up again as his fury rose to the fore. “You were going to leave me after you _promised_ …”

His voice broke on that word and Hawke just sagged where he stood. He hadn’t been thinking much at all when he’d said those words in the Fade. He’d just been consumed with guilt about the damage and chaos Corypheus had caused and couldn’t see how it wasn’t his fault for going to that prison in the first place. He hadn’t thought how what he had said would have hurt Fenris.

“Fenris…” he began.

“No.” Fenris made a sharp gesture with one hand. His face was grim but pain gleamed in his eyes. “I need to know… I can’t…” He closed his eyes then drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he opened his eyes again, there was determination in them. “I am either your partner, your lover, your _equal_ , standing beside you in all things or I am _nothing_ , Hawke. You have to stop leaving me behind because of your own fears. You have to stop making decisions _for_ me. I have already had enough of that in my life. I do not need it or want it from _you_.” Hawke made a strangled sound and reached out for him but he stepped away from that gesture. “You need to think about this, Hawke.”

He reached for his sword and yanked it out of the sand. He slung it over his shoulder and marched back towards the camp, leaving a desolate Hawke standing alone. It broke his heart to do so. He loved Hawke beyond all measure but he needed to know that Hawke was willing to think of him, _Fenris_ , first instead of prioritising his guilt. He needed to know that he could rely on Hawke to be there for him when he needed him instead of being abandoned because of Hawke’s fears and worries. Perhaps he was being unfair but he needed to know that _he_ came first for once.

Hawke watched Fenris walk away then he dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands with a whimper like a wounded dog. If ever he’d wanted proof of how the Inquisition, how _leading_ the Inquisition, had changed his lover, this was it. Fenris now had the confidence in himself and the strength to put his own wants and desires first and walk away and now Hawke was terrified that he had lost the one good thing in his life through his own stupidity. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Fenris to be like this. This was… _Fenris Triumphant_. Standing as his own person, with no chains tying him to anyone. It was all he’d ever hoped for the man he loved.

“Idiot,” he growled, slamming one fist into the sand. “What were you _thinking_?”

He gave a miserable laugh. What had he been thinking? Nothing. That’s what. He’d become so bloody self-absorbed that he hadn’t thought about anyone’s feelings but his own. He wrapped his arms around his chest and stared out across the plain in from of him.

“You know, this look is very melodramatic but I’m not sure it really suits you.”

Hawke gave a start and turned his head to find Dorian of all people standing not too far away. The mage looked tired but he’d clearly had time to clean up and change his clothes and Hawke wondered just how long he’d been kneeling here.

“What?” he said a bit stupidly as a wave of exhaustion flowed over him now that he was paying attention.

Dorian sat down next to him, grimacing at having to sit in the sand. He then held out a waterskin and shook it when Hawke just stared at it.

“It’s just water,” the Tevinter mage said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m not stupid enough to poison the Inquisitor’s lover.”

Hawke winced but he took the waterskin. The water wasn’t cold but it was refreshing and he sucked it down eagerly. Once he’d drunk his fill, he handed back the waterskin and blinked when Dorian held out an apple.

“That’s not poisoned either,” Dorian said tartly.

Hawke managed a small smile at that and took the apple. He ate it silently, shifting from his kneeling position to a seated one beside the Tevinter mage.

“I guess everyone knows then?” he said morosely.

“That the Inquisitor is not a happy man right now?” Dorian looked faintly amused. “Yes, it is rather obvious. As for the reason? No, no one knows that beside you and him. There is some speculation, especially when you both came out here and only he returned.”

“So you came out here looking for…what? The body? Or just gossip?”

Dorian snorted. “I came out here because Cullen is worried and has more than enough on his plate right now and few people to spare.”

Hawke turned a little and raised an eyebrow at Dorian, distracted momentarily from his misery. “You and Cullen, huh?”

Dorian looked a bit discomfited at that and Hawke could have sworn he was blushing. “Yes, well, it’s not… we’re not _together_. I just…”

Hawke managed the barest of smiles. “You are allowed to admit that you care about him, you know?”

“Not in Tevinter,” Dorian said with a snort.

Hawke waved at hand at the desolation around him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not _in_ Tevinter.”

“Yes, I had noticed the disgraceful lack of anything resembling civilisation.”

Hawke smiled a little then the smile dropped away as his misery returned.

“I do care about him,” Dorian said softly. “I… I think he feels the same but I’m not very good at reading a man like Cullen.”

“I’m not sure I’m the best person to give you any advice,” Hawke said with a sigh. “Considering I think I’ve royally fucked things up with Fenris.”

Dorian snorted. “I’m definitely not the right person to give relationship advice since I’ve never actually _been_ in a relationship before but I am quite the expert at fucking things up.”

Hawke considered that for a moment. “You heard about what we faced in the Fade? The Nightmare?”

Dorian nodded. “Varric is already telling tall tales about it. While Solas rolls his eyes and corrects him. It’s entertaining in a vaguely horrifying way.”

“Stroud stayed behind to fend it off while we escaped.”

“So Varric said. Very courageous.”

“I made the offer to do that first. Before he did.”

There was a rather pregnant silence after his admission then Dorian shook his head.

“That _is_ a rather spectacular fuck up, Hawke. I’m impressed.”

Hawke gave him an exasperated look. “That’s not helpful.”

Dorian snorted again. “No, really. I think that outdoes any of my fuck ups and I really put my heart and soul into fucking up for a while there when I was young and angry.”

“You know if you’re just going to make fun of me…” Hawke’s irritation faded and he sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’ll fit right in with the rest of my friends actually.”

Dorian rested his arms on his upraised knees and gave a small mirthless laugh. “Well done, Hawke. You basically offered to commit suicide in front of the man who loves you.”

Hawke winced. “When you put it like that, it sounds even worse. I don’t suppose you have any ideas about how to fix this?”

“Grovel? A lot?” Dorian said wryly. “More seriously, since he didn’t rip your heart out, he must have said something to you?”

Hawke winced again. “Yeah. He did. I keep making decisions that affect him without really taking into consideration what he wants.”

“You consider your opinion more important than his?” 

Hawke hesitated then nodded miserably. “I… I guess I have been doing that. And I… I’ve been riding roughshod over his feelings and what he wants for us.”

“I doubt you’ve done it maliciously,” Dorian offered.

“No! Not at all,” Hawke said hurriedly. “I just…” He hung his head. “He… he’s all I have left. Father, Mother, Bethany… they’re all dead. Carver doesn’t need me anymore. He’s made his own life as a Grey Warden. If I lost Fenris…” He gave Dorian a heart-wrenching look. “It’d kill me.”

“So you’ve been getting overprotective,” Dorian said with a nod. “Which is understandable, even laudable in some ways, but, Hawke, if you keep doing that, you’re going to lose him anyway. He’s not…” Dorian chuckled. “He’s not someone that needs protecting. Not anymore.”

Hawke groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I know you’re right but… protecting people is sort of my thing. I’m not sure how good at it I actually am but I do try.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be the one to say don’t protect him _at all_ ,” Dorian said. “Maker knows he’s got enough enemies in the world at the moment. Just… don’t do what you’ve been doing. That’s _clearly_ not working.”

“True.” Hawke sighed. “I just… feel responsible for Corypheus.”

Dorian snorted derisively. “Now that _is_ ridiculous. And if we’re going to start playing that game, I think I get to horde all that guilt. He’s _my_ countryman and everything he’s doing is to try and restore _my_ country to what he considers is our former glory. If we hadn’t been such asses in the past, maybe this wouldn’t be happening now.”

“It’s hardly your fault, Dorian,” Hawke protested.

Dorian arched an eyebrow. “No? Then why is it yours?”

“I… well, I went to that prison.”

“Where you killed him.”

“Not well enough, it seems,” Hawke grumbled.

“Did you know that?” Dorian asked pointedly. “Did you know that he could… do whatever it was that he did to survive? Not that we actually know what it is.”

“Nooo,” Hawke said slowly. “But I’m the one who broke the seal on his prison.”

“From what I read in the Tale of the Champion and what Varric has told me separate to that, he would have got your blood one way or another,” Dorian countered. “He had rather a lot of Carta dwarves to play with and two of you to target. And that’s assuming the Wardens didn’t decide eventually to blackmail you or your brother into helping like they did your father. Besides, you may have broken the seal but you also killed him. If he’d killed you or your brother first, no one would know much about who we were facing.”

“I get what you’re saying but…” Hawke began.

Dorian placed a hand on his shoulder. “No buts. Hawke, the only person who is responsible for Corypheus’ actions is Corypheus. Not you, not me, not even the deluded idiots who follow him.” He paused. “Alright, they can take some of the blame. But you and I? We’re just doing our best to stop him. And that’s all we _can_ do. Stop feeling guilty and using that guilt to hurt the man you love.”

Hawke stared down at the sand as he considered that. Finally he sighed and looked at Dorian. “You know, for someone who says he’s not very good at relationships, you give pretty good advice.”

“I hope so,” Dorian replied rather wryly. “Though if this crashes and burns, please don’t blame me.”

Hawke laughed. “I won’t.” He considered the other man for a moment. “You know, you should just tell Cullen how you feel. What’s the worst he’s going to do? Blush and stammer and tell you he can only be your friend?”

“Well, that would be something of a letdown,” Dorian admitted.

“You wouldn’t want to be his friend if he couldn’t give you more than that?” Hawke said archly.

Dorian was silent for a time. “I’ll admit I’ve never tried it. Never had the opportunity really. I’d like to think I could, though it wouldn’t be easy.”

Hawke chuckled. “Try spending three years not knowing if the man you’re madly in love with will ever come back to you and be more than just a friend. _After_ you spent the most amazing night together.”

Dorian looked startled. “It truly was three years? That wasn’t a Varric exaggeration?”

Hawke laughed. “No, it really was three years.” He sobered and looked a little distant. “I didn’t push him into staying that night after we dealt with Hadriana. That was definitely very, very mutual. But maybe I should have… I don’t know, tempered things a little. Slowed things down. But Maker! I _wanted_ him, Dorian. I’ve never wanted anyone like I do Fenris. _Ever_.”

“But things didn’t go well?” Dorian looked rather fascinated. “Obviously I won’t say a word about any of this to anyone.”

“Thanks,” Hawke said with a nod. “But no, things went amazingly well. It was…” He sighed happily. “The best night of my life. I’ll… spare you the details.”

Dorian grinned wickedly. “No, please. I love details.”

Hawke laughed again. “I’ll spare you the details so that Fenris doesn’t shove a hand through both our chests. He’s already irritated enough that Varric got a bit… steamy in his book.” He held up both hands. “Not that I said a word to Varric beyond what I’ve said to you. He just… extrapolated or something.”

“He’s rather good at that from what I can tell,” Dorian said dryly. “So. Things went so well that you spent three years pining for him?”

“I did pine quite a lot.” Hawke grinned ruefully. “I made my friends very exasperated with all the pining. There was enough pining to make a whole forest. But no, things were great but… well, Fenris has no memories of his life before the brands were put on him. The pain… it all but wiped them away. But that night, afterwards, he dreamed and he… remembered. We’ve never figured out why and it was just a little bit and it all disappeared very quickly. It unnerved and upset him and his instinctive reaction back then was to run away from things that hurt.”

“Not an unusual sort of reaction,” Dorian observed. “I did much the same.”

Hawke nodded. “It hurt and it almost broke my heart but I was never going to force him to stay. Or force him to face what happened to him. He needed to do that for himself. And I… I was willing to wait.” He smiled. “I had some hope, you know. I had a small family shield I’d been given as a gift as well as a strip of cloth in my favourite shade of red that I’d used to show a tailor what I wanted. Both were on my desk that night and he… took them and he wore them. The strip of cloth around his wrist and the shield at his hip. I felt… I felt like it was an unspoken promise that when he was ready, he’d come back to me.”

“This is all terribly romantic,” Dorian said with a grin.

“I suppose it is now. It wasn’t at the time,” Hawke said dryly. “It was painful at the time, made worse by the fact that Anders was pining after _me_ and felt very smug that, as he saw it, Fenris has buggered things up and given him a chance to swoop in.”

“Ouch.” Dorian winced. “Love triangles are only fun if they’re a true triangle and everyone’s happy to be involved in them.”

“Exactly.” Hawke sighed. “Anders is a friend. My opinions on what he did are… complicated but he’s still my friend. Just… not anything more.”

Dorian nodded his understanding. “But Fenris did come back to you.”

“Yes, he did,” Hawke said with a smile. “After we killed Danarius. I went to see him, to see how he was doing and, well… I stayed the night.”

“I feel quite jealous,” Dorian said wistfully. “My love life has been one unmitigated disaster after another. Mostly of my own making, I’ll admit, but still.”

“You have a chance to change that,” Hawke pointed out.

Dorian was silent for a moment. “I suppose I do. Assuming Cullen feels the same way.”

“I honestly don’t know the man very well,” Hawke said. “He was different back in Kirkwall. But from what I’ve seen of him here, now, with the Inquisition? I don’t think he’ll be cruel.” He chuckled as he remembered what Lorelai and Theo had said. “In fact, I think he might be quite receptive.”

“Do you really think so?”

The look of wistful hope on Dorian’s face made Hawke’s heart clench. He wondered if he’d ever looked like that in the early days after meeting Fenris. He suspected he probably had.

“Yeah, I do.”

Dorian stared out over the plain as a small smile played over his lips. Hawke watched him for a moment then stared down at the sand again. Dorian had been more helpful than he realised… or maybe exactly as helpful as he’d intended. It was sometimes hard to tell with the Tevinter mage. He did like to project a façade of not caring about anything at all while actually caring quite a lot. 

Hawke’s problem wasn’t that he didn’t know what to do but that he was afraid of screwing up again. Because it was something of a habit to be a bit stupidly overprotective. He had to try though. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Fenris, especially not to his own stupidity.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Hawke is getting some perspective from Dorian, Fenris is getting some advice and perspective from Solas.

Fenris pushed his way into his tent and pulled off his sword, propping it up on its stand. He stripped off his armour and washed briefly in the water that had been provided before pulling on a pair of soft pants and a loose shirt. He then sat down on his bed and ran a hand down his face. He desperately wanted to get some sleep but with the way his thoughts were racing, he knew that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

He had been expecting a battle today, one with demons and magic certainly but essentially just a battle, the sort of thing he’d been involved in a hundred times before just writ far larger. He _hadn’t_ expected to be thrown into the Fade and be faced with everything that had happened in there. The Divine, his recovered memories, the Nightmare demon…

Leaving Stroud behind.

He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. No matter that Stroud had volunteered, had all but pushed him and Hawke out of the Fade, he had left that man behind to face his death or worse. He could only hope that Stroud had died and that it had been quick and clean. He deserved that much. He just wasn’t sure how he was going to explain this to Carver.

He got to his feet and start pacing back and forth across the tent. He’d been avoiding facing the rest of what had happened in the Fade. The thing that was the Divine. The thing that had saved him after the explosion and who had given him back his memories. He shuddered away from thinking about it, not _wanting_ to think about it, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

He was grateful to have his memories back. The Nightmare had spouted rubbish about being kind in taking them away, which proved how little it actually understood about people. Or at least how little it understood Fenris. It didn’t matter how bad the memories might be, what fears and horrors they held, he would much rather know than not. 

He scowled and shoved his way out of the tent, stalking across the camp and ignoring the looks he got for his current mode of dress. He wanted to talk about this with Hawke but he knew if he tried that right now, he’d just end up yelling at his lover. He was still angry about Hawke’s actions in the Fade and he knew he couldn’t be reasonable about it right now.

“Are you sure it is wise to be so far from camp without a weapon?”

Fenris’ markings flared to life and he had turned with snarl and had his now-ethereal hand halfway into Solas’ chest before he even registered who was there. He stared wild-eyed at the elven mage for a moment then yanked his hand free and stumbled backwards with a strangled Tevene oath before tripping and falling on his back. He curled up for a moment then he sat up and hung his head as he panted and swore under his breath, again in Tevene.

He flinched when he felt the gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Solas crouched beside him. The mage had a very peculiar expression on his face.

“Inquisitor? Are you well?”

Fenris stared at him for a moment then he swallowed. “I… forgive me.”

A faint smile appeared on Solas’ face. “I believe it is I who should be seeking your forgiveness for startling you like that.”

Fenrs frowned and felt himself settle a little at the absurdity of that statement. “I shoved my hand in your chest.”

The faint smile on Solas’ face became more pronounced and he rubbed his chest. “You did indeed. It was a unique experience.”

Fenris started at the elven mage for a moment then he gave a bark of laughter. “That is not the usual reaction.”

“I’m not surprised.” Solas stood and held out a hand. “I believe it would be safer closer to the camp.”

Fenris stared at the offered hand for a moment then he took it and allowed Solas to help him to his feet. When he turned around, he understood the mage’s concern. He was some considerable distance from the camp.

“I didn’t realise…” he began.

“You did seem somewhat distressed,” Solas replied. “May I be of any assistance?”

Fenris was silent for a time as they walked back towards the camp. Solas didn’t seem to mind. He simply kept pace and waited patiently.

“The Fade,” Fenris finally said.

“It can be an unnerving place, especially for non-mages.”

Fenris grunted. “I left Stroud there.”

“I know.” Solas considered the matter for a moment. “If you are willing to explain, I will listen.”

Fenris walked for a little while longer and when they passed a pile of rocks, he veered towards them. They were still some distance from the camp but he could see the patrols from here and they could undoubtedly see both of them. He sat down on a rock and Solas did likewise nearby.

“The Nightmare demon came back,” he said shortly. “It was between us and the rift. Stroud offered to distract it to let us by.”

“A noble gesture,” Solas said.

“Hawke made a counter offer,” Fenris said sourly.

Solas raised an eyebrow. “A less noble gesture.”

Fenris snorted. “Stroud told him not to be an idiot and ran at the demon.”

Solas looked at him. “From that description, it sounds less like you left Stroud in the Fade and more that he volunteered to save your life. Yours and Hawke’s.”

Fenris grunted and stared at the sand below the rocks. Solas watched him for a time then smiled sympathetically.

“This is not about what happened to Stroud and Hawke’s foolishness,” he said. “Not truly. You intensely disliked being in the Fade.”

“I intensely dislike magic,” Fenris growled.

Solas decided not to point out the flaws in that particular statement lest he get to experience the unique sensation of Fenris’ hand imbedding itself in his chest again. As fascinating as it had been to experience, once had been more than enough and it was easy to see that the Inquisitor’s temper was on a knife edge right now. Instead he simply waited. He had found that Fenris was often willing to talk if you simply waited for him to approach things at his own speed. Pushing him usually resulted in him shoving everything down and ignoring it and pretending all was well.

Fenris finally growled under his breath. “The Divine… or whatever was pretending to be the Divine.”

“I believe the latter is correct,” Solas said.

“What was it?”

Solas cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “I am unsure. A spirit of some description naturally. What kind, I cannot say. Perhaps Compassion. Or possibly Faith.” He considered it for a moment. “Yes, possibly Faith. From all I have been told about the Divine, I believe she could well have drawn a spirit of Faith in her final moments.”

“And it pretended to be the Divine?”

“It wished to help,” Solas replied. “It had absorbed a great deal of the Divine’s personality and knew of what had happened, knew of you. Knew of the Nightmare and what it had done.” He paused for a moment. “A demon of that magnitude and power unnerves the spirits of the Fade. I had been aware through my dreaming that there was something making the spirits nervous but it was difficult to get answers from them because they did not wish to get too close and risk being corrupted. The spirit that encountered the Divine had the strength through the Divine’s personality to retain its purpose. From what we saw in your regained memories, the Divine had great strength of personality. Even when being slowly killed by Corypheus, she retained the strength of mind to act when the opportunity presented itself.”

Fenris chewed on that for a while. “Why pretend to be the Divine?”

“Two reasons,” Solas said. “Firstly, it was a form that we would find comforting and that we would listen to. Secondly, it is entirely possible that the Divine’s personality was strong enough to influence the spirit. It retained much of the Divine’s form when it became itself after all.”

From Fenris’ expression, it was clear he didn’t much like the answer but Solas suspected that there was little he could say about what had happened that Fenris would like. Due to his background and experiences, he had found being in the Fade to be intensely unnerving. It saddened Solas but he understood. A life like that which Fenris had experienced could not be easily cast away and Solas would never ask him to do so or try to minimise what he had gone through.

“The Nightmare deals in fear,” Solas said quietly. Fenris showed no signs he was listening but the mage knew that he was hearing every word. “And fear is insidious. It eats away at us, undermines our strength, our confidence, our determination. Fear doesn’t attack openly, where everyone can see. If it did that, everyone would rally to support us and fear would be easily defeated. No, fear attacks silently and secretly, in ways that are unfair and unkind. It attacks our very foundations.”

Solas paused and decided to take a small risk. Fenris had left the camp with Hawke and had returned alone, angry and upset. From what little Varric was willing to speculate, Hawke had done something that upset Fenris and Fenris had confirmed that with his comment about Hawke’s actions in the Fade but Solas wondered how much of Fenris’ reaction was truly his and how much was left over from the Nightmare’s insidious attacks. It may only be a little but ridding the Inquisitor of that much would certainly help. Even if might end up irritating the elf initially.

“How much of your disagreement with Hawke has its roots in fear?”

Fenris whipped around and glared at him and just for a moment, his markings flared into life before dying down again.

“My disagreement with Hawke is not irrational,” he snarled.

Solas raised a hand. “I am not saying it is. I am sure that what you are feeling is entirely justified but the argument did come hard on the heels of our exposure to the Nightmare and his fear demons. You were likely still marginally under the effects of their influence.” He gestured towards the camp. “Everyone is. There are few people sleeping peacefully tonight and most of _them_ are injured or otherwise under the influence of potions.”

Fenris looked back at the camp and some of his anger faded. “Even you?”

Solas smiled faintly. “Even me. I am not awake at this hour of the night by choice. My mind is still too unsettled by all that we witnessed and experienced in the Fade to allow me to escape into sleep.”

Fenris shot him a look over his shoulder. “What did it say to you? It was in Elvhen. I don’t speak that language.”

A momentary look of sorrow washed over Solas’ face. “It was much like what it said to everyone else. A petty dig at my fears and worries. Not enough to overwhelm but just enough to stir up unwanted thoughts and emotions that still linger even now.”

“Hawke offered to stay in the Fade.”

Solas looked at Fenris, at the way he was staring back at the camp and saw the way he was clenching his jaw and the way he was twitching and jittering. Whatever fear that offer had triggered was deep and festering.

“What fear does that touch within you?” he asked softly.

Fenris swallowed. “That he wishes to leave me. That he no longer wants me. That I am a burden to him that he feels obligated to look after.”

Solas breathed out a soft laugh. “Oh, Fenris, those fears are the furthest thing from the truth I have ever seen. I have seen love in many, many forms but rarely have I seen love like that which Hawke has for you. He would turn the world on its head for you. He would march into Tevinter and slay every Magister alive if that is what would make you happy. He would let you go, let you leave if that was what you needed and simply wait until you came back to him. As he has done before.”

Fenris shivered where he stood then he whirled around, his face in a rictus of anger and despair. “Then why does he keep leaving me behind?”

Solas dared to step close and place a hand on Fenris’ shoulder. “Because love makes us foolish. When we give in to it, when we just… throw ourselves into it with abandon, not caring about anything else. It makes us foolish and stupid. We think only of protecting that love because we cannot live without it. Love makes us very, very irrational and illogical.”

Fenris frowned and shuddered then he slumped and let his forehead rest on Solas’ shoulder. Solas placed his arm around Fenris’ shoulders comfortingly.

“You have never truly given in to the love you feel for Hawke, have you?”

Fenris shook his head but said nothing.

“You feel it will… imprison you somehow. That it will trap you. That it is a form of slavery more profound than that which you experienced at the hands of Danarius.”

Fenris was silent and still for a moment then he gave the barest of nods.

“You are correct.” Solas chuckled. “Love is terrible and wonderful, Fenris. I have felt it, experienced it. It is the greatest freedom in the world and the most abject slavery. But Fenris, it is _your_ choice. The chains are ones that are never forced on you. Only you can take them and place them about you. They can be heavy but they can also be light. And they can be discarded whenever you wish.”

He paused and chuckled again. “Your Hawke already wears your chains. He wears them lightly and proudly and with great delight. He clutches at them fiercely when even the slightest chance appears that they might be ripped from him and that makes him do foolish things. Things that hurt you.”

Fenris raised his head. “And I should accept that?” he growled.

“No,” Solas replied. “But talking about it might help.”

“We’ve never been good at _that_ ,” Fenris said with a sour laugh.

Solas raised an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps now is the time to try.”

Fenris grumbled under his breath and Solas chuckled at the words he managed to pick up from that.

“He will come back to you,” he said. “And when he does, try talking. Tell him how you feel. He likely doesn’t know.” Solas paused. “In fact, I suspect that his fears mirror yours, especially now when you no longer need him.”

Fenris gave him a startled look. “I will always need him. I…” He swallowed hard and then forced out the words he had so much difficulty saying. “I love him.”

“You are the Inquisitor,” Solas said. “You lead an organisation which is rapidly becoming the preeminent power in Southern Thedas. If we save the Empress in Halamshiral, the entire south will defer to you. If we ultimately succeed in defeating Corypheus, even Tevinter will bow to you. Why would you need an apostate mage of no great significance outside one small city-state in the Free Marches?”

“I… see,” Fenris said, looking troubled. Was that truly how Hawke felt? That he was being… left behind? That Fenris no longer needed him.

Solas chuckled. “Perhaps if you and Hawke were to _talk_ …” He patted Fenris on the shoulder. “I should return to the camp. As should you, my fierce wolf.”

The elven mage strode off and was some distance away before his final words caught up with Fenris. He frowned as he watched the mage walk back to the camp. Why did he feel like Solas had called him that before and why did it feel so different from anything Danarius had called him? From Solas it felt like… pride and respect and honour, as though Solas saw something in him that Fenris couldn’t hope to understand. 

He shook his head and dismissed the words in favour of his problems with Hawke. Solas was right. They needed to talk. They had never done that to any great extent in the past. Hawke had never wanted to push him and he had always struggled to find any words at all, let alone the right ones. Well, they were both going to have to try. Because no matter how much of an idiot Hawke could be, he was _Fenris_ ’ idiot and he had no intention of letting the man go.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a shortish update to get us over this lump of feels. Hawke and Fenris talk. It's not a perfect resolution but it is a beginning.

Fenris was actually a little surprised to find Hawke in their tent when he got back. While it was true that they had been sharing the tent, Hawke had a tendency to give him space when they’d argued and he’d half-expected to spend the night alone. That had bothered him more than he wanted to admit. While it would hardly be the first time he’d slept alone after an argument, this time it all seemed to hold more weight.

“Hey,” Hawke said. He’d taken off his armour and boots and as sitting on the edge of their shared bed in nothing more than a pair of breeches and a loose shirt. “So. It’s been brought to my attention that I’m an ass.”

Fenris snorted. “Is that so?” he said as he tied the tent doors closed.

“Yeah.” Hawke sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked jittery and nervous. “I’m sorry, Fenris.” He sighed again and gave Fenris a plaintive look. “I’m terrified of losing you so I… keep doing stupid things that backfire and just risk pushing you away even more. Because I’m an idiot.”

Fenris looked at his lover, who was sitting on the bed with his hands clasped in front of him, looking despondent. It seemed that Solas had hit the nail fairly well on the head. He licked his lips and sat down next to Hawke.

“You fear losing me.” He looked over at the wall of the tent. “This is because I left after… that night.”

Hawke was silent for a moment. “I… don’t know. Maybe. It…” He shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t fun.”

Fenris nodded. “You think that you love me more than I love you.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “I… what? No! I know you love me.”

Fenris grimaced. “But you think that I would leave you whereas you would not leave me. You think that I don’t love you in the same way you love me.”

“I, well… everyone loves differently,” Hawke prevaricated. “No two people can love exactly the same way.”

“Hawke.” Fenris reached over and placed his fingers over Hawke’s lips. “I… have never been good with these sorts of words but I had hoped you knew what I meant when I said I am yours. Freely. Willingly. Because I wish to be yours. Whether I am a former slave on the run scratching for coin or the leader of the Inquisition. I. Am. Yours. I wish to be with no other nor do I wish to be alone.” He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “I love you. And know that I mean it when I say that I could not bear to live without you. _That_ is why it makes me angry when it appears you wish to throw your life away with no consideration as to how I feel. Because without you, my heart would be… shattered. I might as well go back to Tevinter and wrap the collar around my neck again because what would I have to live for without you.”

He was shaking by the end of that little speech. It was perhaps the most he’d ever said on the subject at one time in all the time he’d known Hawke, all the time he’d loved Hawke. If Solas hadn’t nudged at him more than once tonight, perhaps he’d never had the courage to say it at all. But it was everything that he felt, now lying there on the table.

Hawke was silent for a horribly long moment then he shifted, almost falling the bed to kneel in front of Fenris. He took Fenris’ hands between his own and stared down at them for a moment before raising his head to look him in the eye.

“Fenris, love.” There was a tremor in his voice and he stopped and cleared his throat before going on. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I never meant to…” 

He broke off and leaned forward until his head was resting against Fenris’ chest. He stayed there for a moment before pulling back and look up at Fenris again.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Hawke said, his pain obvious in his voice and his eyes wet with tears. “I think you’re right. I think maybe subconsciously I did think that I was deeper in this than you were. That I felt that you would be able to leave us behind when I knew I couldn’t.”

Fenris pulled one hand free and cupped his cheek. “It’s because I left.”

Hawke shook his head. “No! Or… if it is, that’s on me, not on you. I understood then and I still understand now why you left. I would never have asked you to stay when you needed to leave. You needed time and I was willing to wait.”

It was Fenris’ turn to shake his head. “That… is not entirely true. Perhaps I needed time but I should have talked to you. I didn’t. I am grateful that you waited for me. You would have been within your rights to move on. I… did not make things easy for you.”

Hawke smiled and leaned into Fenris’ hand. “I was madly in love with you even back then. I didn’t want to move on. And… you gave me hope. You wore my crest and my colours.”

“I did.” Fenris blushed. “It was all I could think to do to tell you that I wasn’t running away entirely. I’m not sure I entirely recognised what my feelings were back then but I knew that I did not want to lose you. You were… and still are… special to me.”

Hawke smiled and leaned in so their foreheads were resting together. “So. I am not going to make decisions for the two of us anymore and you are free to kick me up the arse if I start to backslide. And I’m going to trust that you love me just as much I love you.” Fenris was silent for a moment and Hawke pulled back to look at his face. “Fenris?”

Fenris winced. “You are… not entirely wrong there. I… had my eyes opened to the way I have been behaving and that it is unfair. I love you, Garrett. Deeply With all my heart. But I have… held myself back. I… was afraid.”

“Afraid?” Hawke frowned. “Of what?”

Fenris gave a pained huff of a laugh. “Solas described love as a form of slavery but one in which you choose to wear the chains instead of them being forced upon you.”

Hawke winced. “I’m not sure I’d have used that particular analogy but… there’s a lot of truth to it.”

“I have been afraid to… to pick up those chains,” Fenris said quietly enough that Hawke had to lean in a little to hear his words. “To… make myself a slave to love.”

“I would never ask you…”

Fenris cut off his words with a single laugh and a fond look. “I know. If there is one thing I know with certainty, it is that you would never bind me to you in any way. But I…” He licked his lips and forced himself to continue. “I want to pick up those chains. I want you to know that I love you just as deeply as you love me. I want to love you with the same kind of freedom and abandon that you love me.”

“Fenris,” Hawke rasped. He lunged forward and began peppering Fenris’ face with soft, gentle kisses. “Oh, love. I know. I know. I love you.”

Fenris felt like he was falling once again from the top of Adamant. There was that same wild, looping feeling in his stomach except this time it was followed by joy and happiness and the sure and safe knowledge that he would be caught instead of fear and worry and terror. He threw himself into Hawke’s arms and they collapsed back onto the floor of the tent as they kissed and kissed and kissed, only broken by half-spoken promises of love.

Once the storm of emotion passed, they simply lay there for a while. Fenris sprawled on top of Hawke with his face buried in Hawke’s neck while Hawke’s arms were wrapped tightly around him. Finally Fenris raised his head and propped himself up on Hawke’s chest.

“Hi,” Hawke said with a very goofy smile.

Fenris snorted. “Idiot.”

Hawke’s smile turned into a grin. “But I’m your idiot.”

“You are indeed,” Fenris said warmly.

“We should probably get some sleep,” Hawke said, though he made no motion to move. “You’re probably going to have to make decisions about sixty million things tomorrow and I know how grumpy you get when you don’t have enough sleep.”

Fenris scowled. “I don’t get grumpy.”

“You get grumpy and it’s adorable.”

“I’ll show you grumpy,” Fenris muttered but he did slowly shift off Hawke. 

He stood up then and stretched, not even twitching when he felt large warm hands slide under his short and up his stomach and chest.

“Garrett,” he said warningly.

“I know.” Hawke pressed a kiss into the side of Fenris’ neck as he pressed himself against his back, a warm heavy weight that Fenris leaned back into easily. “I don’t think either of us could get it up right now but I just… wanted to.”

Hawke fell abruptly silent and Fenris was tempted to chuckle at the length of time it had taken him to realise what he had called him.

“You called me Garrett.”

Fenris turned in his embrace. “I did. It seemed right.”

And it did feel right. Hawke… everyone called him that but Fenris was not everyone. If anyone had a right to called Hawke by his name, it was his lover.

“Are you going to call me a pet name as well?” Hawke said, his happiness obvious in his voice as he murmured into the side of Fenris’ neck.

“I already do,” Fenris said with amusement.

Hawke laughed as he manoeuvred them towards the bed. “Idiot doesn’t count.”

The mage tumbled them both down onto the bed and there was silence while they got themselves under the blankets and curled into each other. 

“Most of the pet names I know are in Tevene,” Fenris admitted. “And used by the Magisters and their ilk.”

Hawke brushed Fenris’ hair out of his eyes. “Bad associations?”

“Somewhat.” Fenris grimaced. “Though Amatus is probably the… the cleanest of those words.”

“You don’t have to use them if you don’t want to,” Hawke said, kissing his forehead. “I’m happy with idiot.”

Fenris snorted. “I will think on it.”

“You could call me honeybunch?”

“No.”

“Sweetums?”

“No.”

“Sugarplum?”

“No.”

“Boogabear?

“Garrett?”

“Yes, love.”

“Go to sleep or I will hit you.”

“Yes, dear.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before and both Fenris and Hawke keep to the promises they made to each other.

Fenris woke with a sense of unease, as though he’d just had a nightmare but couldn’t remember any of it. He also woke alone, which did nothing to help with that feeling of unease until he heard the low sound of Hawke’s voice across the other side of the tent.

“Can it wait, Cullen? I’d like to let him sleep.”

“Of course,” Cullen replied from outside the tent. Fenris thought he sounded tired, something that was confirmed when Hawke spoke again.

“And incidentally when was the last time _you_ slept. You look like hell.”

Cullen sighed. “There has been much to do.”

“Rubbish. Learn to delegate, man. In fact, delegate now. That second in command of yours… Rylen, isn’t it? He looks competent. Let him handle things for a couple of hours while you get some sleep.”

“Hawke, I do not need to be mothered,” Cullen said with a fair amount of exasperation.

Hawke snorted. “Actually I think you do. Seriously Cullen, is there _anything_ that can’t be handled by Rylen for a couple of hours?”

Cullen was silent for a moment before reluctantly saying, “No, not really.”

“Then let him handle it,” Hawke said kindly then he chuckled. “If you’re not careful, I’ll sic Dorian on you.”

Fenris could hear Cullen spluttering and he smirked a little. He had no idea what was actually going on between Cullen and the Tevinter mage but he knew that Josephine, Leliana and Cassandra all thought it was _adorable_ and very good for both men. He was more than willing to trust their judgement on the matter. If they felt there was anything wrong or unhealthy about the relationship, he was sure they’d have taken steps to separate the two already. Instead, they all seemed encouraging.

“Good day, Hawke,” Cullen said firmly once he’d stopped spluttering. “Tell the Inquisitor I need to speak to him after he wakes.”

Fenris heard the sound of Cullen stomping away and he sat up. Hawke turned at the moment and grinned at him, a wide, open appreciative grin that made Fenris blush a little.

“Good morning,” Hawke said, coming over to sit next to him on the bedroll.

“Good morning. Must you torment my Commander every time you speak to him?” Fenris asked dryly.

Hawke frowned and Fenris was surprised to that he looked genuinely concerned. “Actually, I wasn’t tormenting him. He looks like death warmed over, love. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he hadn’t slept at all.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “If you didn’t know any better?”

“I passed his tent last night on my way back here,” Hawke replied. “It was dark and he was snoring so I know he did get at least _some_ sleep.”

Fenris frowned and made a mental note to speak to Cullen and Cassandra. He wondered whether this was related to Cullen’s withdrawal or just an effect of the battle the previous day. Then he snorted and smirked at Hawke.

“When did Cullen become someone you fussed over like an old grandmother?”

Hawke smiled sheepishly. “Probably somewhere around the time you told me off for not recognising that he’s changed since Kirkwall. You know me.”

Fenris smiled softly and cupped his cheek with one hand. “Yes, I do.”

Hawke leaned into his touch and then he sobered. “Last night I made some promises to you so I guess I’d better start living up to them. You know Weisshaupt needs to be told about what’s happened here and I’m not sure these Wardens should be running around unsupervised just yet.”

Fenris sighed. “You want to go.”

“Well, no, I don’t actually but _someone_ needs to.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to discuss this with Carver first?” Fenris asked with a raised eyebrow.

Hawke sighed and sagged a little. “Damn. I’m not looking forward to telling him. He’s not going to be happy. He liked Stroud. Respected him.”

“You won’t be telling him,” Fenris replied. “I will. Ultimately it was my decision.”

“Actually I think ultimately it was Stroud’s decision,” Hawke said wryly. “He didn’t really give us a lot of options.”

Fenris nodded to concede that point then he gave Hawke a pointed look. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about how Carver will react when he is told about your idiocy in the Fade.”

Hawke winced. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to leave that bit out?”

“No.”

Hawke sighed and slumped down on the bed so that his head was resting in Fenris’ lap. “It was worth a try. I suppose I deserve whatever bollocking Carver gives me then?”

Fenris ran a hand through Hawke’s hair, the gentleness of the action belying the harshness of his tone when he answered. “Yes, you do.”

Hawke waggled his eyebrows ludicrously. “I could make your silence worth your while.”

Fenris snorted and flicked the end of his nose. “I’m sure you could but I’m going to tell him anyway.”

Hawke pouted at him then he wriggled his hand in Fenris’ lap until he started running his hand through his hair again.

“Are you alright?” Hawke asked after a moment.

“Yes,” Fenris replied. “Why?”

“You were pretty restless last night.” Hawke looked up at him with concern. “It looked like bad dreams but you settled fairly quickly without waking up.”

“I don’t…” Fenris’ frown deepened as bits and pieces of his dreams of the previous night came back to him. “It was… the temple. Before.”

Hawke nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. You just got those memories back so I guess they needed to settle in.” He considered what they’d seen in the Fade. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right time.”

“I caused the explosion,” Fenris said flatly. “When I picked up the orb. “

“Maybe,” Hawke replied. “But I suspect that it would have been a thousand times worse if Corypheus had kept hold of it and finished what he was doing. You told me about what you saw in that future in Redcliffe. Probably that but worse.”

“That doesn’t change the facts.”

Hawke shifted around so that he was sitting up and he took Fenris’ hands in his own. “You had no way of knowing what would happen and neither did the Divine. It was a bad situation and you both did what you could with what you had to work with. That an explosion occurred was not your fault. As much as I hate that you were touched that badly by magic when I _know_ how much you dislike it, I _know_ that mark is better off on your hand than on Corypheus’.”

Fenris pulled his left hand free and placed it, palm up, on his leg. The anchor was quiescent, glowing a dim green against the lines of lyrium on his hand. He twitched when he remembered how it had felt at the beginning, before Solas had found a way to separate it from the lyrium brands. He also thought about the power it had now, after the confrontation with Corypheus in Haven, how he could create small temporary rifts himself to damage their enemies, and what might have been if Corypheus had been able to take it from him that night.

“Perhaps you are right,” he conceded. 

“You’ve done a lot of good with it,” Hawke said quietly. “You’ve done a lot of good all round actually. You’re an amazing leader.”

“I never wanted the job,” Fenris said, looking uneasy as he continued to stare at the anchor.

Hawke chuckled. “I know but you’re good at it anyway. I know Cassandra wanted me for the job but I don’t think I’d have been as good at it as you are. I don’t think I’d have been able to avoid letting my personal opinions interfere with the job. I mean, look at what you’ve done. You’ve been fair and reasonable with the mages and with Anders. You’ve befriended a Tevinter Altus. You have so much respect and trust for both Solas and Vivienne. You were even willing to trust a Ben-Hassrath spy. You’re a better man than I am, Fenris.”

Fenris’ head shot up and he stared at Hawke with wide eyes. “You cannot mean that.”

“I do,” Hawke said earnestly. “After what the Qunari did in Kirkwall and what Tallis did at Chateau Haine, I don’t think I would have trusted Bull enough to bring him into the Inquisition. I don’t know whether I would have trusted Dorian or Vivienne enough to accept their offers of help. I’d have given a full alliance to the mages and then coddled them.”

“I don’t believe that,” Fenris said flatly. “You would have done what was best for the Inquisition even if you didn’t agree with it. You did that often enough with all of us in Kirkwall. How many times did you aid Anders even when I told you to your face that you were being an idiot?”

Hawke winced. “I’m not sure that was the best example there, love. I might have been better off not helping Anders so much in the end.”

“I doubt that would have changed what happened.” Fenris snorted. “Just delayed it. What about Merrill then? Or me? Sebastian?”

Hawke sighed. “Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been an amazing leader for the Inquisition.”

Fenris gave him a wry look. “Perhaps it would be better waiting until _after_ the ball at Halamshiral before making that judgement?”

“Aw, you mean you’re not looking forward to several hours of dealing with Orlesians?” Hawke said with a grin.

“No.” Fenris grimaced. “Josephine can give me all the lessons and instruction she likes, it does not change the fact that Orlesians will look at me and think ‘knife-ear’.”

“Yeah, well, no one ever said Orlesians were smart.” Hawke’s eyes widened a little. “Except for Leliana. She’s very, very smart. You know, just in case she’s listening.”

Fenris chuckled. “She’s not listening, Garrett.”

Hawke blinked then smiled broadly at the use of his name. “Maybe. But she’ll know I said it anyway. That woman is scary.”

Fenris looked amused. “Yes, she is.” He sighed and looked around the tent. “I should get up. See what Cullen wants. Find out what disasters have occurred overnight and how soon we can get everything moving back to Skyhold.”

“You know, there’s a level of cynicism in that last bit that I like enormously,” Hawke said with a grin as he got up and held out one hand.

“Of course you do,” Fenris replied. He took Hawke’s hand and let him pull him to his feet. He then leaned into his lover and smiled when Hawke wrapped him up in a warm embrace. He swallowed hard then ventured the phrase he felt so deeply but had rarely said before, “I love you.”

Hawke’s arms tightened around him and he could almost feel the happiness coming from the man. As such his words were not a surprise.

“I love you too, Fenris. Always.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, what's going on back at Skyhold while everyone else is laying siege to Adamant? This chapter will answer that question. Also known as the chapter where nothing much happens until something happens.

Anders walked along the battlements of Skyhold, his shoulders hunched and refusing to look at any of the guards he passed. He knew his little Templar and mage shadows were likely lurking around behind him somewhere but they’d seemed inclined to give him his space unless someone made any overt moves and then Ser Theo would loom conspicuously and Enchanter Lorelai would glare until the person backed off. After the third instance of this, most of the overt moves had stopped though that didn’t stop the stares and the whispers and, when he ventured into the garden, the glares of the Chantry priests. Mother Giselle had an especially piercing gaze, though he wasn’t sure if she disliked him or pitied him.

The fortress was almost disturbingly empty at the moment with everyone off laying siege to Adamant. He hadn’t been asked whether he wanted to come along and while part of him was a bit miffed at that, he likely would have said no anyway. He might not be hearing the false Calling thanks to Justice’s work but that didn’t mean he wanted to be anywhere near the Grey Wardens. And the healers who had remained in Skyhold had been happy enough to have his help given the number of them that had gone to support the army.

He paused at the end of the battlements just short of where it crumbled into ruin for a section and stared out over the vista. Justice had been so quiet of late, even when he’d worked with Solas before the elven mage had gone off with the army. He understood why but the spirit had been a part of him for so long that it felt strange to be so alone in his own body. Solas seemed confident that they could help Justice return to the Fade without causing any harm but Anders wasn’t so sure. He also didn’t know what that meant for him.

Someone came up beside him and grunted. “Anders.”

Ander sighed. “Carver.” 

He looked at his fellow Grey Warden and arched an eyebrow momentarily. Unlike himself, Carver looked like being a Grey Warden was what he’d been waiting for all his life. He stood tall and confident, no more the sullen counterpoint to his brother. He seemed calm and composed, even though Anders knew the false Calling must be ringing through his mind, lacking a handy spirit to keep it quiet.

“I would have thought you’d have gone with the army,” Anders said after a moment of silence.

Carver looked a bit disgruntled. “I wanted to but Stroud ordered me to stay here with Felix.”

“Felix?”

“Felix Alexius, our newest recruit,” Carver explained. “He was blighted about three years ago.”

Now Anders looked surprised. “How did he survive? You looked like hell after only a few days.”

Carver snorted. “He had his father and Dorian making potions and using spells to sustain him while they looked for a cure.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Anders said, intrigued almost in spite of himself.

“Neither did Stroud. He wants a full report from Dorian and to speak to Gereon Alexius when he gets back so that we can take it to Weisshaupt.”

Anders grunted and went back to looking out over the vista. Carver didn’t seem to mind and simply stood next to him in what was a reasonably comfortable silence. It was Anders who eventually broke first.

“Inquisitor Fenris, eh?”

Carver looked amused. “I think the only person less impressed about that than you is Fenris. Still I’ve seen him in action with that mark on his hand. It’s pretty impressive.”

“It’s magic.”

“Yeah, he hates it.” Carver crossed his arms over his chest. “Garrett said it was really bad at the start. The mark was reacting with those lyrium brands of his. Solas was the one who figured out how to fix that.”

Anders grunted again. Solas was certainly a very interesting mage. His style was unlike anything Anders had ever seen before and his breadth of knowledge was astonishing. He was also strangely protective of Fenris and Anders had learned to keep his disparaging remarks to himself when he was with the elf.

“What’s this about a Magister?” Anders asked. “I thought his master was killed at the Hanged Man.”

“He was,” Carver said with a scowl. “We didn’t know what was going on until Felix got here. Turns out Danarius had an heir and everyone thought he was trying to… reclaim his property. Turns out he wasn’t.”

“So who did it?”

“Probably the same people who grabbed you. The Venatori, probably along with the Red Templars.” Carver shrugged. “Who else would it be?”

“Why me?” Now it was Anders’ turn to scowl. “Fenris and I are not friends.”

“I don’t know,” Carver said. “But Garrett’s pretty worried. I think the others are as well. If it was the Venatori who grabbed you and dumped you here then they did it at Corypheus’ orders. There has to have been a purpose behind it.”

Anders grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. That _had_ occurred to him as well. He just had no idea what they could have been wanting him to do.

“What a wonderful view.”

Anders turned sharply at the unfamiliar voice and saw a young man about the same age as Carver, wearing brand new Grey Warden armour. He looked rather chipper and Anders was tempted to scowl at him a bit more just for that.

“Harritt got it done then,” Carver said to the young man.

“He did.” The young man looked down at what he was wearing. “Although it looks like he couldn’t decide whether to make me mage armour or something that a scholar would wear.”

Carver grunted. “Oh. Anders, this is Felix Alexius. Felix, this is Anders.”

Felix looked at Anders with active interest. “Hello, Anders. Pleased to meet you.”

“You might be the only one,” Anders said sourly.

Carver snorted then looked at Felix again. “You look happy.”

“I am,” Felix said with a smile. “Do you know how long it’s been since I felt this well? I just ran up the stairs. I haven’t been able to run up stairs for at least a year.” He sobered. “I went to see Father, to tell him what’s happened.”

Carver winced. He’d heard all about Gereon Alexius and what he’d done in Redcliffe and more importantly _why_ he’d done it.

“How did that go?”

Felix grimaced. “About as well as could be expected. He raged a bit about why Fiona didn’t mention this option and I had to remind him that he was the one who meddled with her mind to make her agree to the indentured servitude so between that and her resentment when he started changing the rules, why _would_ she tell him?”

“Indentured servitude?” Anders frowned. “What’s this? Why would she agree to that?”

Felix sighed and gave Anders a short summary of what had happened in Redcliffe. Anders looked appalled and sputtered for a moment when he was done.

“What… I don’t understand? Why would Tevinter make mages into… _that_?”

Felix gave him a look that could only be described as kind. “I know there’s a view among the mages in the south that Tevinter is some kind of mage paradise but that’s… not very accurate. It’s true that being a mage provides some advantages but really only if you’re from one of the Magisterial families, even more so if you’re an Altus or a Magister. If someone from a Soporati family or a slave shows signs of magic, that doesn’t mean they’re going to become a Magister or that they’re going to be anything other than… well, barely comfortable in life.”

He paused and shrugged. “I suppose that’s better than the South in many ways but many mages do become indentured servants and even slaves, especially if they don’t possess any great power or if they lose at the political game they’re trying to play. And that’s not taking into consideration the use of the Rite of Tranquility.”

Anders looked startled. “You use the Rite?”

Felix nodded. “It’s… a political tool. It’s considered the grandest win in the Great Game as played by the Magisterium to manoeuvre a political opponent into a position where they can legitimately be made Tranquil. Or worse, their heir is made Tranquil.”

Felix looked sympathetic and patted Anders on the arm. “The Imperium has its share of trouble and unpleasantness.”

“I mean he’s completely left out the whole slavery and blood magic thing,” Carver said dryly.

Anders looked rather crestfallen and Felix patted him on the shoulder again.

“I’m sorry. On the bright side, the Inquisition does have an opportunity to influence things for the betterment of mages, given the amount of power it’s gathering.”

Anders sneered. “As if Fenris would do that.”

“You might be surprised,” Carver said. “I’ve been around here for a while and the mages have a lot more freedom here than they ever did in the Circles.”

“Not just freedom, _responsibility_ ,” Felix added. “The Inquisitor has a rather unique way of dealing with issues that arise with the mages. He usually puts the loudest complaining voice in charge of finding a solution that works with the Inquisition’s plans.” He chuckled. “The loudest voices are usually all huff and puff and not much thought so it’s an interesting tactic. Seems to be working though.”

They hadn’t realised that their voices had been carrying along the battlements until they heard a giggle and looked around to see Enchanter Lorelai leaning against Ser Theo as she giggled uncontrollably.

“My keepers,” Anders said sourly as he waved a hand at them.

“Ser Theo,” the Templar said as they came closer. He shook hands with Felix and Carver. “And this is Enchanter Lorelai.”

There was a short exchange of pleasantries then Felix gave Lorelai a curious look.

“Was that laughter agreeing with me or disagreeing?”

“Agreeing,” Lorelai said as she brought herself under control. “Most of the loudest voices are full of hot air and not much else so putting them in charge of the solution has been a wonderful move. All the mages then look to them instead of bothering everyone else. Honestly most of the ideas have fizzled out because the loudmouths are terrible organisers.”

“What if it is a good idea?” Anders asked.

“Then usually one of the Senior Enchanters quietly picks it up and consults with whoever is the most appropriate person to consult with and it’s sorted out.” Lorelai shrugged. “You’d be amazed at how accommodating the Inquisitor is as long as you have sensible reasons behind what you want to do and you’ve got plans in place in the event something goes wrong.”

“But…” Anders frowned. “Fenris hates magic.”

“I did get that impression,” Lorelai said dryly. “And he’s not terribly fond of us mages in general. But he _is_ fair. Grudgingly fair maybe but fair nonetheless. There’s not a mage here in the Inquisition that can deny that. And if he’s not sure whether what we’re proposing is reasonable or complete lunacy, he usually refers it to all three mages in his Inner Circle and gets their opinions about it and makes his decision from there.”

“That must be interesting,” Felix said. “That’s three very different mages with three very different outlooks on magic.”

“I think that’s why he does it,” Lorelai replied. “Though I think he favours Solas’ opinion over the other two.”

“He does seem to get along with Solas,” Carver said. “It’s weird.”

“He loves your brother and he’s a mage,” Felix said.

Carver wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I know and I have no idea how that happened. I wasn’t there. But I know Fenris didn’t like Anders or Merrill so to see him actually respect Solas is weird.”

“You should ask him,” Felix said with a hint of mischief.

Carver snorted. “Yeah, right. That’d go down well.”

Lorelai smiled at their byplay. “I think the Inquisitor would much rather have gone after the Templars.”

“Why didn’t he?” Felix asked curiously.

It was Theo who answered. “He went to Redcliffe first because he happened to be in the Hinterlands. I don’t think he expected to do more than listen to what the Grand Enchanter had to say and then go off after the Templars but instead…”

“He found a Magister in charge,” Felix said with a slow nod. “Yes, that makes sense given what I know of him now. There’s no way he would have let that stand, not with his background.” He sighed. “And Father wasn’t being very rational.”

Carver scowled for a moment then he sighed. “Not surprising. My brother wasn’t very rational when I got blighted. He should have done what Aveline had to do with Wesley.”

“There were Wardens around,” Anders protested. “There was a solution.”

“That even you weren’t very confident about,” Carver said.

“Well, yes.” Anders grimaced. It didn’t seem to be entirely related to the discussion at hand as he rubbed his forehead for a moment. “But it was a chance. Probably a better one than I was saying because Stroud’s not unreasonable. I don’t think Hawke was being that irrational.”

“Be that as it may, Father was being irrational.” Felix looked sad. “What a waste. At least the Inquisition has been kind to him.”

“I’m surprised Fenris didn’t kill him,” Anders said.

Felix smiled wryly. “I think he was tempted. He did _not_ enjoy his little jaunt into the future. I don’t know why he didn’t. You’d have to ask him that.” He shrugged. “But Father seems content enough doing the research that he’s been assigned. He always did like research better than anything else.”

He paused and shuffled his feet a little until Carver placed a hand on his shoulder. He smiled up at the younger Hawke and the others were all a little surprised to see Carver blush just a little.

“This was the first time since he took up with the Venatori that he hasn’t spouted their rhetoric,” Felix said quietly. “I think he was still clinging desperately to the idea that the Elder One might still cure me. Now that I _am_ cured, so to speak, he has nothing of that left.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Lorelai asked softly.

Felix nodded. “He’s more like the father I’ve always known now than he has been in the last year or so.”

“Does he know much about alchemy?” Lorelai asked.

Felix looked confused at the apparent change of subject. “Yes, he does actually. He and Dorian developed the potions I’ve been taking.”

“I’ll go and speak to him,” the Enchanter said. “In the name of research and all.” She smiled impishly. “I’m sure he could do with a friendly face.”

“I…” Felix caught her hand. “I’d be so grateful if you would. Father isn’t a bad man at heart. Just…”

“He loves his son,” she said kindly, squeezing his hand.

“Perhaps a little too much, I think.” Felix sighed. “But I am his only child and he was never disappointed in me, not even when I didn’t show much in the way of magic.”

“You don’t have much magic?” Anders asked, looking curious again. He was beginning to look a little pale but since he seemed otherwise fine, no one commented on it.

“Not really.” Felix chuckled. “Enough to light a candle or a campfire but never enough to warrant attending a Circle. If Father was ever disappointed, he never let it show and instead was more than happy to feed my interests.”

“Which are?”

“Mathematics,” Felix said, his face lighting up. “Both theoretical and applied.”

“So what does that mean for…” Lorelai paused. “Well, not to be too grim but for inheritance.”

“Oh, I’d never be able to take my father’s place in the Magisterium,” Felix replied. “I’ve always known that. It’s not that I _couldn’t_ but without being a strong mage, I’d never be able to withstand all the machinations that go on. Unless I turned to blood magic and _that_ isn’t ever going to happen.”

“I thought blood magic was acceptable in Tevinter,” Carver said.

“Well, yes and no,” Felix said with a grimace. “Officially it’s frowned upon and could warrant the use of the Rite but unofficially it’s quietly and widely used by the Magisters and those seeking that rank. Dorian likes to joke that it’s just not a party in Tevinter until there’s been an assassination attempt and the blood magic has started. Unfortunately it’s not that much of a joke and rather close to the truth.”

Carver shook his head. “But your father doesn’t use it?”

“No,” Felix replied. “He finds it distasteful. That’s why he was always such good friends with Halward Pavus to the extent that Dorian and I have known each other since we were children. That friendship between our fathers fractured a bit lately.”

“Why?” Anders asked.

“Father’s obsession with curing me mostly and the paths it was taking him down but…” Felix fell silent. “He had some fundamental disagreements with Halward about Dorian.” He sighed. “Halward Pavus is considered to have some liberal views by the Magisterium but at his heart he is quite traditional and conservative. Dorian… wasn’t inclined to follow his father’s carefully mapped out plan for him.”

“I feel like there are whole layers of meaning there that I’m completely missing,” Theo said dryly.

The others agreed with him and Felix smiled wryly.

“It’s not really my story to tell. Anyway, I think Father always intended for Dorian to succeed him. It’s not uncommon in the Imperium for a favoured apprentice to be named as heir rather than a child. The only reason it was never made official is because Dorian was always horrified by the idea and then he and my father fell out over... a few things, including me.” He looked rather fondly amused. “Dorian hated the idea of taking my inheritance from me, even if he knew intellectually that I’d never be able to use it without getting myself killed very quickly. Silly really. I know he’d look after me and frankly I’d be quite pleased knowing I’d never have to deal with the Magisterium.”

Carver was about to say something when Anders suddenly groaned and lurched where he was standing. Both Lorelai and Felix leapt forward to catch him but backed away when he waved a desperate hand at them and staggered backwards. He raised his head and they saw that his eyes were glowing blue… a blue which rapidly turned red then blue again. Sparks crackled from his eyes and fingers.

“Lorelai, Felix, move back,” Theo barked as he stepped forward.

Carver, realising what the Templar was about to do, grabbed the two mages and dragged them along the battlements. As soon as they were clear he gave a shout and Theo Silenced Anders. The mage arched as the Silence hit him, his eyes glowing red for a moment, then he sagged and would have collapsed to the ground if Theo hadn’t caught him.

“Lori!” Theo barked and the young mage came running over. “Check him, please.”

The young mage ran forward and knelt down next to the unconscious Anders. She concentrated for a moment then shook her head and leaned back.

“I… nothing’s wrong,” she said with an edge of frustration. “Or at least nothing that I can detect.”

“I’ve seen him go all… Justicey before,” Carver said with a wave of one hand. He was frowning but for once he looked worried instead of irritated. “But that… wasn’t quite right.”

“It was red,” Theo said grimly. “At least at some points.” He sighed and shook his head. “Solas and Cole have said nothing about the red lyrium affecting him. I’ve been there for their sessions so I’d know.”

Anders groaned and clutched at his head. Lorelai immediately placed her hand on his shoulder and then helped him sit up.

“Easy, Anders,” she said soothingly. “Give yourself a minute.”

“That never gets any better,” Anders grumbled as he rubbed his forehead.

Theo knelt down in front of him. “Sorry about that, Anders, but… your eyes started glowing. First blue, then red then blue again and finally red when I hit you with the Silence.”

“It wasn’t your normal Justice look,” Carver added. “You usually do a bit more glowing than just your eyes.”

Anders shook his head. “It wasn’t Justice. It was…” He looked baffled. “I don’t know. I don’t… there’s a… a blank from when Felix was talking about his father making Dorian his apprentice until the Silence hit me.” He scowled. “I remember that.”

“I am sorry,” Theo said earnestly. “But it is my job to make sure… well, nothing goes haywire. And if you can’t remember what caused this, well…” He looked a little lost and Lorelai patted him on the shoulder.

Anders scowled a bit more then he sighed and just slumped back against the wall. “I hate being Silenced.”

“No mage likes that,” Lorelai said wryly. “But… you may not remember it but some part of you must have been aware of what was going on and that it wasn’t good. You were waving us away and backing off. It was only when your eyes started glowing red that Theo acted.”

Anders curled up a little and looked disturbed. “So what now?”

“You seem to be fine,” Lorelai said. “ _I_ can’t find anything wrong with you so I guess we just… keep going as we have been.”

“Seems like all we can do until Solas and Cole get back,” Theo added.

Anders looked decidedly taken aback and his gaze shifted between Theo and Lorelai then up to Carver and Felix. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it.

“That’s all?” he asked warily. “You’re not going to lock me up?”

“I don’t see any reason to,” Theo replied. “Lorelai is right. You were aware enough to try and warn us off and the Silence ended it.” He hesitated for a moment. “If it gets worse or you look like you’re going to hurt someone, we’ll have to reassess that but I promise we’ll talk to you about it before we make any decisions.”

Anders looked like he wasn’t sure what to make of Theo and a bit like he was waiting for the axe to fall but when Theo stood up and simply offered his hand to the mage, Anders took it and allowed the Templar to pull him to his feet.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a Templar like you,” he said dubiously.

“Weren’t you always trying to escape and then failing miserably at _staying_ escaped?” Theo abruptly grinned. “I may not have been so calm if I’d had to go running after you all the time. The beds are very comfy in the Circles and I hate camping.”

“He does,” Lorelai added with a sage nod and a small smile. “He whines.”

“It’s much nicer when you all stay where you’re supposed to be,” Theo added, looking innocent.

“Pfft.” Lorelai rolled her eyes. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Theo looked pained. “Lori. _Bears_.”

“There was only one!”

“It was a big one.”

“But you killed it.” She batted her eyes at him. “You were very rugged and manly.”

Theo sighed. “I was very bruised and battered.”

“But in a rugged and manly way.”

Anders had been watching them like they were mad as Felix and Carver smothered their laughter. “Are you two always like this?” the mage asked.

Lorelai grinned at him. “Mostly.”

Anders stared at them for a moment longer then he finally shook his head and laughed softly. “You two might actually make me like Templars again. Or _a_ Templar anyway.”

“Well, it’s a start,” Theo said with a laugh. “Come on. Let’s get you down to the healers. You must have a thumping headache from that Silence and it might be an idea to have them look you over.”

Anders nodded and for the first time, allowed Theo and Lorelai to lead him towards the stairs down to the main building without complaint.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris returns to Skyhold and finds out what's going on with Anders. He gripes about politics and a decision is made.

When Fenris arrived back at Skyhold a couple of weeks ahead of the bulk of the army with Hawke, Cullen, his Inner Circle and an escort of a hundred soldiers, he found Theo and Lorelai waiting for him. Anders was nowhere to be seen and that combined with the grim and worried looks on their faces made him sigh. He issued a few orders to Cullen, Josephine and Leliana then headed over to the Templar and the mage. Hawke trailed along after him and Solas quickly joined them.

“What’s happened?”

“There’s been a problem with Anders,” Theo replied.

Fenris rolled his eyes. “What has he done now?”

“Uh, I’m not exactly sure this is his fault, Inquisitor,” Theo said.

“We’re not exactly sure what’s going on,” Lorelai added. “It’s impossible to get close to him during one of these… episodes and afterwards he has no memory of what happened and he appears to be fine to every spell the healers and I know.”

“And what are these episodes?” Fenris asked.

“His eyes start glowing,” Theo replied. “Alternating between red and blue. Carver says it’s not like when Justice takes over. I assumed he’d know.”

Fenris nodded and frowned and Hawke rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Where is Anders?” Hawke asked.

Theo sighed and his shoulders slumped. “He’s locked up in a cell. We didn’t want to but the episodes were getting beyond my ability to control. He did agree to it, Hawke.” The Templar paused and looked rather grim. “He nearly hurt Lorelai. He has no memory of it but I… I think he’s scared. He’s got no idea what’s going on any more than we do.”

“I’ve got all the mages who remained looking for something… _anything_ … that might help,” Lorelai added. “But Anders’ situation is somewhat unique. Usually possession results in an Abomination, not relatively peaceful coexistence.”

“Relatively peaceful being something of a misnomer,” Solas said dryly. “Inquisitor, let me take Cole and go and see to Anders. It may be that the situation with Justice is becoming more unstable.” He grimaced. “As loathe as I am to suggest it, we may have to… er, I believe the phrase is ‘wing it’.”

Fenris snorted then nodded. “Go. Do it. If we do need to wing it, I don’t want to do so within Skyhold.”

“I’ll come with you,” Hawke said to Solas then he turned to Fenris. “Anders might appreciate a friendly face under the circumstances. It’ll probably also make him feel better to know you aren’t going to keep him in that cell if we can get this under control.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Fenris said with a roll of his eyes. “Fine. I’m sure Josephine has a thousand things I need to look at.”

Fenris watched them go then headed for the keep. He was quite happy to leave dealing with Anders to Hawke since he had little patience for the man and no knowledge that could be of any help. Between them, Solas, Cole and Hawke were the ones most likely to come up with an answer. So instead, he made his way to Josephine’s office where she was more than happy to bury him in missives and reports and decisions that he needed to make.

“Why is he asking me this?” he growled later that afternoon as he held up a letter that had come from an Orlesian Compte. “It is a private matter. It has no relevance to the Inquisition or what we are doing.”

“It is…” Josephine paused as she picked her words carefully. “A test, in a way. You are an unknown factor, even now. Perhaps especially now. You are neither Orlesian nor Fereldan nor Antivan nor Rivaini nor a Marcher. You are of Tevinter but not truly Tevinter, if I may put it that way. You are an elf but you are neither a city elf nor one of the Dalish. The Orlesian nobles are unable to predict how you might act in any given situation and that troubles them, especially with the Masquerade Ball so close.”

“So this?” Fenris waved the letter again.

“An… inconsequential decision that he asks your advice about to try and get a feel for what you are like,” Josephine replied. “He has likely already made his decision about what he intends to do. He simply wants to know what you would decide.”

Fenris frowned and looked down at the letter. “And if I don’t answer it at all?”

Josephine smiled slightly. “Then that will tell him something else entirely.”

“So I can’t win,” Fenris said with deep disgust.

“It is not about winning, Inquisitor,” Josephine replied. “It is about the impression you wish to form in his mind.”

“And why should I care?”

“The Compte has the ear of the Empress,” Josephine replied. 

Fenris grumbled and read the letter again. If there was one thing he could say about becoming Inquisitor, it was that the job had improved his literacy incredibly quickly. Between Vivienne’s discreet aid and Josephine’s equally subtle help, he’d become more at ease with reading and writing than he’d ever thought possible when he and Hawke had left Kirkwall.

“I really could not care less about this,” he grumbled. “And he hasn’t given me sufficient information to be able to make a proper decision anyway.”

“I had noticed,” Josephine replied. “Shall I request clarification?”

“And what message will _that_ send?” Fenris asked dryly.

“That you will not be rushed into a decision without adequate information,” Josephine said with an approving smile. “I can easily word the letter to give the appropriate reproof for both the lack of information and for wasting our time.”

Fenris smirked as he tossed the letter back on her desk. “Do it.”

Josephine had just picked up the next letter when there was a knock on the door and Hawke poked his head in.

“Sorry to interrupt but Solas wants to speak to you, Fenris. He says it’s urgent.”

He turned back to Josephine but she simply nodded. “The rest is not urgent, Inquisitor.”

Fenris gave her a nod and strode across the room to join Hawke. The mage looked uncharacteristically sober as he led Fenris down to the cells. Only one cell was inhabited right now and when he got closer, he saw that Anders was slumped on the floor, either unconscious or asleep, and that periodically blue or red energy would crackle over him then fade away. Solas was waiting calmly outside the cell and Cole was lurking furtively not far away, a look of distress on his face.

“Solas?” Fenris said briskly. A pang of something – pity maybe? Sympathy perhaps? – had gone through him when he’d seen Anders and he didn’t like it much. Anders was a dangerous fool and needed to be treated firmly, not coddled.

“It is not good,” the elven mage replied. “It is difficult for Cole to find words that we can understand but from what he was able to tell me, it appears the red lyrium has done more damage to Justice than we originally thought.”

“In what way?”

“He is Blighted.”

“How is that possible?” Fenris asked, frowning. “And do you mean that he’s a demon?”

Solas shook his head. “No.” He paused immediately and then tried again, clearly picking his words carefully. “Anders, as a Grey Warden, already carries the Blight within him and somehow the action of the red lyrium has allowed that to pass over to Justice. He is still Justice for now but he is Blighted and I cannot say what that may do to him.”

Fenris looked over at Anders for a long moment then he turned back to Solas. “What do we do?”

Solas gave him a measured look. “There are a number of options. You could have him executed. That would certainly deal with the problem very effectively.” 

Hawke shifted and made a small noise of protest but then Cole was suddenly standing next to him with a hand on his arm. He looked down at the odd spirit boy and Cole simply smiled calmly at him so he subsided. He didn’t know what the smile really meant but Cole didn’t seem upset, which had to be a good sign, didn’t it?

“You could exile him somewhere,” Solas was saying, having ignored Hawke’s reaction as much as Fenris had. “The Hissing Wastes perhaps. He could do little harm to anyone out there. You could hand him over to the Qun, though I suspect they would simply execute him.”

Fenris was giving Solas a very exasperated look by this stage. He wouldn’t deny that there was a part of him that was still – would perhaps _always_ be – the abused and cowed slave to a mage that found those options very attractive but if there was anything Hawke, Vivienne and Solas had taught him, it was that judging all mages by the actions of one was for fools. And Fenris had always tried to not be a fool.

And if there was one thing Dorian had taught him, it was that not all Tevinter mages were the same.

“I am not a monster,” he said with open irritation. “What are the _sensible_ options?”

He couldn’t decipher the look Solas gave him at that moment. It looked like relief and pride but it was gone so quickly he couldn’t be entirely sure. 

“We must separate Anders and Justice,” Solas replied. “It would not be terribly difficult to do so since Justice is willing to let go, however doing so would likely result in his death.” 

Grief passed over Solas’ face in a flash and Fenris was reminded of his reaction to the death of the spirit of Wisdom in the Exalted Plains. Fenris had gone a very long way out onto a limb of his personal comfort with magic and spirits that day, trusting that Solas was right in what he’d said. As he’d subsequently turned out to be. Fenris viewed spirits with deep suspicion but even he’d felt sympathy and compassion that day. Solas’ grief and despair had been very real.

“What about using the anchor?” Fenris asked.

Solas sighed. “I believe it would work to provide him with a conduit back to the Fade but… the sheer chaos of the small rifts you create might well tear him apart.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to try anyway?” Hawke asked. “At least this way gives him a chance of surviving.”

Fenris grimaced. “The rifts are tears in the Veil, correct?”

Solas nodded. “Yes. Unnatural tears in the Veil.”

“Oh!” They all turned to see Cole staring at Fenris in surprise and hope. “Yes! That might work.”

Hawke and Solas turned back to Fenris, who was now scowling.

“You had an idea?” Solas asked carefully.

“What if I were to open a rift in a place where the Veil is already weak and thin?” Fenris asked. “Would the… disruption create enough extra weakness to allow Justice to pass back to the Fade?”

This time Fenris truly could not even _begin_ to decipher the expression on Solas’ face. All he did know was that it sent a shiver through him that wasn’t entirely pleasant. For just a moment, something truly _ancient_ appeared to shine through Solas’ face and Fenris had no idea whether it was real or just a trick of the dim lighting here in the dungeons.

Solas abruptly turned to Cole. “You believe it will work?”

Cole hunched his shoulders. “When the Veil is thin, I almost feel I could pass through. Justice is different, more and less, he may able to pass through the cracks in the Veil.”

Solas nodded thoughtfully and turned back to Fenris. “I take it you have a place in mind?”

Hawke groaned. “Aveline is going to kill us both.”

Fenris looked faintly amused for a moment. “Kirkwall,” he said to Solas.

“The Veil _is_ thin there,” Hawke said with a rueful look. “Any mage would tell you the same.” He winced. “The Gallows would be the best place to use. A lot of mages used to live there and it’s where it all went down at the end. It’s probably where the Veil is the thinnest. Also it’s away from the city so if anything goes wrong, we won’t be setting anything off where everyone lives.”

“Would we be permitted to go there?” Solas asked.

“Aveline could be helpful there,” Hawke replied. “And given Fenris is the Inquisitor, that’ll hold some weight.” He hesitated and looked over at Fenris. His expression was reluctant. “Cullen might be able to help as well. He knows the Gallows better than any of us and if there are any Templars still there, they might listen to him.”

“He’ll be thrilled,” Fenris said dryly. “I will ask him but I will not demand it of him.”

“Inquisitor,” Solas said. “We must leave soon. Tomorrow if at all possible.”

Fenris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Josephine will be so pleased. Very well. Anders obviously. Hawke, you, Cole, Theo and Lorelai, Cullen if he is willing.” He paused and considered matters for a moment. “Cassandra. That should be enough for protection yet still allow us to travel fast.”

“I’ll go and speak to everyone you wanted,” Hawke said. He gave a quick grin. “I’ll let you handle the good Ambassador though. She’s scary” He sobered again. “Did you want me to speak to Cullen?”

Fenris shook his head. “No, I will. Him and Josephine.”

“Cole and I will stay here and see what we can do to stabilise Anders,” Solas said.

Fenris nodded and turned to look at Anders again. The mage hadn’t moved the entire time they had been talking, though Fenris still could not tell if he was conscious or not. He did not like Anders and suspected that he might not ever like the mage, even if he was no longer being driven to extremes by Justice, but as he’d said to Solas, he was not a monster. He would bend the Inquisition’s resources to help how he could.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke return to Kirkwall and the Gallows. Nobody is terribly happy about that. And surprisingly enough, sometimes dangerous things go well.

Fenris stood at the ship’s railing and watched the docks of the Gallows approach. He’d only been here a few times, including the final battle against Meredith. Hawke had often left him out of any of his jaunts to this place, whether it was out of consideration for his past or because he didn’t trust Fenris not to be excruciatingly offensive, he had never known. All things being told, it was probably for both reasons.

He turned around and looked at the group that had gathered on the deck. They had picked up Aveline in the city. She had smoothed their way to the Gallows prior to their arrival on the condition that she be present for whatever it was they planned to do and now she was talking quietly with Hawke. From the look of exasperation on her face and the expression of rueful suffering on Hawke’s, there was some scolding going on there. No doubt he would face his own worried scolding once she was done with Hawke.

Cullen was standing to one side, looking decidedly uncomfortable and more than a little green. The man was not a good sailor and that, combined with his intense dislike of small spaces, had given him a miserable trip. He’d spent, as far as Fenris could tell, the entire trip on the deck of the ship, carefully staying out of the way of the sailors but refusing to go below even when the weather turned foul. His utter exhaustion was why they had lingered for the night in Kirkwall before coming to the Gallows. Fenris had deemed it necessary in order to have his Commander actually able to think and act if necessary, though he hadn’t actually said it that way.

Standing on one side of Cullen, her shoulder occasionally bumping against his as the ship shifted, was Cassandra. Her expression was carefully blank but she viewed the Gallows with thin lips and a faint air of disapproval. On the other side of Cullen, pressed tightly against his side, was Dorian. The mage was scowling and looked just a touch bilious. He was not a particularly good sailor either but he had refused to let Cullen go without him. Fenris remembered that argument with amusement. Cullen had blushed and demurred and looked downcast and worried but had not actually argued very hard against the idea. Having met Cullen when he was at his worst in Kirkwall, Fenris had a fair idea why the former Templar was worried but he didn’t think Dorian was idiotic enough to not be able to see that the man had changed.

Anders was lying unconscious on a stretcher with Theo and Lorelai standing guard over him. They’d kept him well hidden since they’d arrived in Kirkwall, unwilling to trust to the authority of the Inquisition to override any lingering anger and resentment from the inhabitants of the city if they found out who was here. As it was, Aveline had given the mage several grim looks but Fenris knew she wouldn’t do anything. She still trusted Hawke and from things she had said the previous night, she trusted him as well. It was… gratifying.

Solas and Cole were talking quietly together. From what Fenris understood of the plan, they would be doing most of the work today. Fenris would open a rift using the anchor, Cole would help Justice leave and find his way back to the Fade and Solas… had been rather vague about what he was doing, other than something with the Veil. Fenris wasn’t sure if Solas was being deliberately vague or simply felt that the magical theory was completely beyond Fenris’ understanding and explanations would only muddy the waters.

An exasperated sound from Aveline drew his attention and he saw that Hawke was giving her his best boyish grin while she tried and mostly failed to glare sternly at him. Finally she laughed and whacked him on the shoulder before making her way over to Fenris.

“He hasn’t changed one bit,” she complained.

Fenris arched an eyebrow. “Did you expect him to?”

“I had hope,” Aveline said with a sigh then she fixed her gaze on him. “He might not have changed but you have.”

Fenris held up his marked hand. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

Aveline had the good grace to wince. “No, I don’t suppose you did. I’m sorry, Fenris.”

Fenris nodded in acknowledgement. He’d always rather liked Aveline’s upfront and forthright nature. It wasn’t always fun but it was reassuring to know that she wasn’t going to lie just to make you feel better.

“You’ve been doing good work,” Aveline said.

Fenris arched an eyebrow at her. “I have?”

Aveline seemed to understand what he was asking. It wasn’t that he doubted the information that his advisors gave him but sometimes, when he was making decisions regarding people and events that were so far away, he didn’t really know if it was the right one, even when everything seemed to work out well. It wasn’t as though he had been even remotely prepared to take on a role of such power. But Aveline wouldn’t lie to him and she had a good understanding of what people wanted and needed from their leaders.

“You have,” Aveline said firmly. “The Inquisition has been making a very good name for itself.” She gave him a sidelong look. “I never quite expected you to ally with the mages though.”

Fenris muttered a few unsavoury things under his breath, drawing a soft huff of laughter from Aveline. “It wasn’t my first choice,” he admitted sourly. “We went to Redcliffe so I could hear what Grand Enchanter Fiona had to say and I fully expected to go after the Templars anyway. But then…” He scowled. “There was a Magister there.”

Aveline nodded in understanding. “And you couldn’t walk away.”

Fenris was silent for a long moment then he admitted something to her that he hadn’t done with anyone else. “I could have. The mages had made their choice and I had no particular desire to save them from their own stupidity.” He sighed. “I would have walked away and gone after the Templars if not for Felix and Dorian. I once believed that all Tevinter Magisters, all Tevinter _mages_ of high rank, were like Danarius. Alexius reinforced that but Felix and Dorian… did not. They were the reason I didn’t walk away.”

Aveline glanced over her should towards where Dorian was still leaning into Cullen. The former Templar had now wrapped an arm around Dorian’s shoulders and they were talking quietly to each other. Whatever they were saying was clearly amusing Cassandra immensely even if she was trying to pretend she wasn’t listening to them.

“He’s certainly not what I expected of a Tevinter mage,” she observed then she shook her head. “And _that_ still baffles me.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow at her. “You dealt with Cullen afterwards.”

“I did,” she said with a nod. “And I knew he was… tired and disillusioned. But you remember what he was like. He was… better than that the last time I spoke to him before he left but I would still never have imagined him with a mage.”

“He is still not comfortable with magic,” Fenris replied. “And his past gives him a compelling reason to feel that way.” He smiled faintly. “And no, I will not tell you what that past is. He told me as Inquisitor and I will keep his confidence. He had largely moved past it when I met him in Haven and whatever fears he still held have been largely handled by Dorian.”

“You like Dorian, don’t you?”

Fenris hesitated. “I… yes?” He frowned. “He is… different.” He sighed and glanced over at her. “We’d… _met_ before.”

“What?” Aveline looked surprised.

“Danarius was a rabid social climber,” Fenris said with scorn. “He would pander to any Magister he could, one of whom was Magister Halward Pavus, Dorian’s father. Dorian was with him.”

Aveline turned to stare at Dorian and did so for long enough that the man realised someone was looking at him. He gave them both a questioning look but Fenris waved him away. Dorian nodded and went back to his conversation.

“He was young,” Fenris continued, drawing Aveline’s attention back to him. “Mid-teens at the most. I believe I may be a few years older than him. Danarius was showing me off or rather showing off his _handiwork_. I remember Dorian and his father because they were among the few who were horrified and sickened by what Danarius had done to me.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Aveline said, her voice a mix of horror at what Danarius had done and relief at Dorian’s reaction.

“It certainly helped when I met him,” Fenris said dryly. “It meant I didn’t shove my hand through his chest straight away.”

Aveline gave him a reproving look but then she chuckled. “I imagine he appreciated that.”

Fenris looked amused then decided he needed a change of subject. “How’s Donnic?”

Aveline rolled her eyes at his complete lack of subtlety but she accepted it. Another thing he’d always liked about her and why he’d become friends both her and Donnic.

“He’s well,” she said with that soft smile that only her husband brought out of her. “Though I think he misses his _man time_ with you.”

That drew an honest laugh out of Fenris that briefly drew the attention of the others. Most looked surprised since Fenris did not laugh often but Hawke just smiled fondly.

“I miss it too,” he admitted. 

“How much time will you have here?” Aveline asked, looking a little wistful.

“I don’t know.” Fenris glanced over his shoulder at Anders. “It depends how this goes, I imagine.”

Aveline followed his gaze and her expression became grim again. “I hope this works. I don’t approve of what he did but he doesn’t deserve this.”

Fenris grunted. “Whatever happens, he will be free of Justice. It’s more a case of whether we can get Justice back to the Fade.”

Aveline glanced down at his hand. “I thought that thing just closed rifts.”

“It does.” Fenris grimaced. “It changed after Corypheus tried to reclaim it in Haven.”

Aveline’s reply was lost in their arrival at the Gallows. They trooped up to the main courtyard and Fenris shivered as he looked around. Broken pieces of the bronze statues still lay in the corners of the courtyard but they had at least managed to remove the statue of Meredith, which was one small mercy. He wasn’t really in the mood to deal with red lyrium today along with everything else.

“I don’t think we need to go further in,” Solas said with some distaste. “The Veil is thin enough here to work and this place is… unpleasant.”

“Pain, hurt, anger. Hurts and hurting both in steel and cloth,” Cole murmured. “Wounding each other until no one wins.”

Most of the group looked confused but Solas simply nodded and explained. “Yes, the Veil is thin enough here that the spirits and demons called by the suffering of the mages also influenced the Templars, which in turn led to more pain and suffering, more demons and so on in a vicious endless circle.”

Cullen made a strangled noise. “You mean…?” He broke off and drew in several deep breaths. “I thought it was just me. This place… it always felt so different to Kinloch, so dark and oppressive and dank that it seemed hard to breathe at times, let alone think, but I thought it was just me. That… that what I’d been through had tainted my perceptions of the place somehow.”

“No, Commander,” Solas said soberly. “Or at least not entirely. Your experiences may have coloured your perceptions to a certain extent but the Veil is so thin in this place that it is not fit for any kind of habitation. The trauma you had been through would simply have made you more vulnerable to its effects. No doubt it also contributed to Meredith’s slide into madness. While all here, both mage and Templar alike, must still take responsibility for their actions, it goes a long way to explaining how things deteriorated so greatly.”

Cullen bowed his head for a moment then when Dorian placed a hand on his back and asked a quiet question, he raised it and nodded his head. He looked troubled and wan but he nodded to Fenris.

“When the new Divine is chosen, I will see to it that this place is abandoned,” Cassandra said firmly.

Fenris stepped forward. “Let’s get on with this,” he said tersely.

That seemed to galvanise the group and Theo and Lorelai, who were carrying the stretcher Anders lay on, stepped forward.

“Place him there,” Solas instructed, pointing to a place not far from where he was standing. As they obeyed, he turned to Fenris. “Inquisitor, if you would be so kind as to stand over there. Everyone else, move back. It is best that you stay well clear but be ready. Just as we hope that Justice will be able to slip through the cracks in the Veil to the Fade, there may be things that use the opportunity to escape from the Fade into our world.”

Cassandra, Cullen and Aveline drew their swords and readied their shields and Theo quickly joined them. Lorelai joined Hawke and Dorian a bit further back. Fenris waited for Solas and when the elven mage nodded, he threw up his hand and activated the mark. The power within the mark roiled and burned then it burst up and opened a small rift. Everything within the rift’s circle of influence began to be dragged towards it and he dimly heard Solas’ shout. 

He looked over in time to see Cole place his hand on Anders’ chest and a moment later a shadowy figure dressed in ancient armour seemed to rise from the unconscious mage. The figure, glowing blue but with red tracing over him from time to time, drifted towards the rift and paused just out of reach of its influence to look at Fenris.

_Hail and farewell, Fenris._

The voice seemed to resonate in his head and he knew who the figure was. He nodded once in reply and the figure shimmered briefly then disappeared.

“Inquisitor!” came Solas’ shout. 

Fenris disengaged the mark and lowered his hand. “It worked,” he said with certainty. “But to what extent?”

“He made it,” Cole said quietly.

“There is no way to determine what has happened to him now that he is in the Fade but I will search tonight,” Solas added. He dropped down to crouch beside Anders and placed a hand on his head. “I sense no further trace of the red lyrium within Anders, though we will not know what effect the removal of Justice has had on him. Their bond was quite… intense.”

“He’ll be alright though?” Hawke asked, looking a little anxious.

“We can hope so,” Solas replied.

Hawke seemed to realise that was probably the best answer he was going to get. “Let’s get out of here. We can go back to my place.”

It seemed almost anticlimactic to troop out of the Gallows so soon after they had arrived but Fenris was just pleased that something so potentially dangerous had gone so smoothly. He was conscious of the looming Masquerade Ball and how much they had invested in it. They would be cutting their timing tight enough as it was but this had been important.

The trip back to Kirkwall went equally smoothly and they arrived at Hawke’s estate in Hightown without any trouble. Fenris was surprised to find Bodahn and Oranna there waiting for them and he quickly escaped up to Hawke’s room, not really wanting to hash over what had happened. The mark was still thrumming on his hand as it always did when he used it and he wanted to give it time to settle before anything else.

“Fenris?”

He wasn’t surprised that Hawke had followed him and he turned to face his lover. “I am fine.”

“Are you sure, love?” Hawke came over and caressed his face.

Fenris let himself lean in against Hawke for a moment. “I’m tired.”

Hawke chuckled and kissed his forehead. “Get some sleep, love. There’s nothing you have to do here so you might as well.”

Fenris nodded and pulled his sword off his back. He didn’t watch as Hawke quietly left the room, closing the door firmly behind him, he simply stripped off his armour and crawled into Hawke’s very comfortable bed. He wasn’t sure he would be able to sleep but in short order, he had drifted off…

…and found himself standing in front of an unfamiliar walled village. 

His hackles went up as he looked around and saw shadowy people standing nearby, gesticulating and shouting, though he heard nothing they were saying.

“You have my thanks, Inquisitor.”

Fenris whirled around, a sword abruptly appearing in his hand, and saw a knight approaching him. The man paused and raised one hand in a gesture of peace before lifting his visor to reveal his face.

“Justice,” Fenris breathed, lowering his sword.

“Yes.” The spirit looked around. “Back where I should be.”

“You are… alright?” Fenris asked hesitantly.

The spirit gave him an austere smile. “I am well. All corruption was lost once I returned here, where my purpose is clear and unsullied by the shifting emotions of a human.”

“Good.” Fenris waited for a moment. “Was there anything else?” He felt deeply uncomfortable being here. He was usually not so aware in his dreams and now he was grateful for it.

“The mage…” Justice paused. “Not Anders, the elven mage. ‘Ware, Inquisitor. He is not what he seems.”

Before Fenris could say anything, the spirit raised his hand in farewell and the Fade drifted away, leaving Fenris to dream normally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers are good, right?


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has a couple of conversations. One... doesn't really go well. The other goes in a direction he never expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been faffing around with this chapter for the last five days and I've decided to post it as is. I didn't cover everything that needed to be covered but that turned out to need further conversations. Fenris needed time to digest everything he learned in this chapter first.
> 
> And just a couple of further notes...
> 
> 1\. Yes, Fenris is unfair to Anders in this chapter. He doesn't like Anders and the encounter with Justice has him off-kilter. Anders was the unfortunate one to encounter him first. I do intend some measure of conciliation between them but it's going to take time.
> 
> 2\. The second half of this is kind of where I've been heading with this fic since I wrote the meeting between Fenris and Solas in the first chapter. See the end of the chapter for further notes.

When Fenris woke, he couldn’t remember what he had dreamed about but he _could_ remember the strange interlude with Justice and the warning he’d given. Solas was not what he seemed. Fenris frowned. He wasn’t sure what that meant. He wasn’t _unaware_ of the fact that Solas was hiding something but he’d simply assumed it was something about his past, things he’d done. Was it something more than that? Justice’s warning seemed to indicate that it might be. If Solas had been a brigand or something more unsavoury, surely Justice wouldn’t consider that worth warning about. 

He got up and stretched, running a hand through his hair as he continued thinking. Could Justice have been warning about blood magic? He knew that Solas held a sort of middle ground opinion on blood magic, viewing it as neither good nor bad. He frowned as he slung his sword over his shoulder. No, it couldn’t be blood magic. Solas might not view it as inherently evil but he had mentioned he didn’t practice it because it inhibited the ability to access the Fade. Fenris snorted. Solas would never do anything that stopped him from getting to the Fade.

He shook his head and made his way out of Hawke’s bedroom and down the stairs. The house was quiet and when he saw Hawke sprawled in a chair in front of the fireplace, fast asleep, he suspected everyone else was doing the same. He walked over to Hawke and shook the man’s shoulder. Hawke snorted and pried his eyes open.

“’Lo, love,” Hawke murmured.

“Go to bed.”

“Ummm.”

Fenris poked him in the shoulder hard. “Go. To. Bed.”

Hawke wrinkled his nose then laboriously hauled himself out of the chair and lumbered towards the stairs. Fenris snorted with amusement as he watched him go then he headed into the library. He was somewhat surprised to find Anders in there, awake, upright and staring out one of the windows. The mage turned around before Fenris could leave and they were left staring awkwardly at each other.

“Justice is gone,” Anders said, breaking the increasingly awkward silence. “Hawke says he’s back in the Fade.”

“Yes,” Fenris said flatly.

Anders looked awkward and slightly dyspeptic. “You helped me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Fenris shifted from foot to foot. Why _had_ he helped Anders? He didn’t like the man. He certainly didn’t trust him. He couldn’t even really claim it was because Hawke would have wanted him to because Hawke would have wanted him to ally with the mages, not conscript them, and he didn’t do _that_. He didn’t always do things just because Hawke wanted him to.

“Does it matter?” he finally said.

“I’m not sure,” Anders replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what happens now?”

“We return to Skyhold.” Fenris scowled. “I have a ball to prepare for.”

His scowl deepened when Anders smirked then the mage hesitated.

“Wait. You mean I’m coming back to Skyhold as well?”

“The agreement the Inquisition made with Ferelden, Orlais and the Free Marches did not become void simply because Justice returned to the Fade,” Fenris said acidly. 

“So I’m a prisoner?” Anders asked belligerently.

“No.” Fenris snorted. “If you wish to walk out the door to this house, feel free. I will not stop you nor will any of the Inquisition’s people. But if you walk out that door, you lose the protection the Inquisition gives you.”

“So I _am_ a prisoner.”

Fenris shrugged. “You hid effectively before. I’m sure you could do it again. Now you simply know what is coming after you.”

Anders looked frustrated and annoyed. Fenris didn’t care. His little interlude in the Fade kept intruding into his thoughts and he made an abrupt decision.

“Does Justice lie?”

Anders looked startled by the question. “Uh, no, not really. Justice isn’t served by lies. Vengeance is but not Justice.”

Fenris nodded and his expression became troubled. So Justice hadn’t lied to him. What had he _meant_?

“Justice spoke to you?” Anders asked, sounding curious.

Fenris shuddered, remembering both the interlude with Justice and the little incident with Solas. “Yes.” He held up his marked hand. “ _This_ seems to make it easier for me to be drawn into the Fade instead of dreams.”

“He’s alright then?” Anders asked intently then he sighed. “I’m not going to apologise for what we did. But Justice deserved to get back to where he belongs.”

Fenris gave him a flat look. “He was fine. Intact. Returning to the Fade removed any corruption.”

Anders gave a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall and looking down at the ground. “He was a good friend. I don’t regret helping him when Kristoff’s body began to fail.” Then he seemed to remember something and he looked over at Fenris. “Why did you ask about whether or not he’d lie?”

Fenris scowled and shifted from foot to foot again before he realised what he was doing and stilled. Vivienne had been teaching him how to control and master some of his little tics so as not to give the Orlesians more ammunition against him.

“He said something to me. I needed to know if he could be lying about it.”

“What did he say?”

Fenris shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Anders rolled his eyes and huffed. “So why did you conscript the mages? Haven’t they had enough oppression in their lives?”

It was Fenris’ turn to roll his eyes. “Yes, and look what they did with their freedom. Handed it over in exchange for slavery to a Tevinter Magister. Are you sure freedom is really what the mages wanted?”

Anders scowled. “I thought it was indentured servitude for a limited period.”

“You’re naïve if you think that’s the case,” Fenris said with a scornful snort. “I am _from_ Tevinter. Indentured servitude is little better than slavery and usually ends in it. Slaves are at least _supposed_ to be treated well. Given a place to sleep, food to eat, clothes to wear at the minimum. Even I got that much and Danarius was the worst of masters. Indentured servitude provides none of that as a given. Indentured servants are supposed to be given a wage but in reality, most are rarely given more than a few coins a day. Most live in rooming houses in the slums, eight to ten to a room, subsisting on little more than bread and whatever they can scavenge out of the rubbish. Most end up willingly signing themselves over into slavery because the conditions are better.”

Anders’ eyes were wide with distress by the end of Fenris’ tirade. He knew he was exaggerating slightly. There _had_ been Magisters who treated their slaves and indentured servants well but not many who moved in Danarius’ social circles. Besides, he didn’t care. Anders was hopelessly, idiotically naïve and deserved to have the worst case scenario shoved into his face.

“I conscripted them because they betrayed Arl Teagan, they betrayed King Alistair and they betrayed Ferelden,” Fenris continued. “They had been given sanctuary freely and willingly and they threw that generosity into the faces of Arl Teagan and the King by allying themselves with a Tevinter Magister bent on destroying the world. And for what? A fictitious army of Templars that was supposedly marching on Redcliffe. The most defensible place in Ferelden. A place where, in the future I saw there, the combined might of Ferelden and the Inquisition threw itself at the walls three times and failed utterly. Even if the Templar army had been real, they could have warned the Arl, withdrawn into the castle, sealed the gates and simply waited out the siege from the Templars until the Fereldan army and the Inquisition arrived.”

Anders didn’t seem to have anything to say to that so Fenris continued.

“I conscripted them into the Inquisition where their actions become _my_ responsibility. I offered them an opportunity to take on responsibilities and duties and to earn the respect they so desperately want.” He snorted. “Which they have largely done. I gave them protection from the consequences of their actions in Redcliffe. The Inquisition made reparations to Arl Teagan and aided with the recovery of Redcliffe. Those within the Inquisition know that the conscription wipes the slate clean and any attempts at retribution against them will be dealt with swiftly.”

“By Knight-Captain _Cullen_ ,” Anders sneered. “Who think mages aren’t even human.”

Fenris looked amused. “ _Commander_ Cullen. He is no longer a Templar and you will give him the respect he is due. And are you sure about that? Then why is his lover a mage? And a Tevinter mage at that.”

Anders looked startled. “What?”

“His lover is Dorian Pavus, the Tevinter mage in my Inner Circle.”

“ _You_ have a Tevinter mage in your Inner Circle?” Anders said incredulously.

“Yes.” Fenris snorted again. “You may prefer to paint everyone with the same brush but I have learned that people change and people are different.” He looked around. “Now if you will excuse me, I have an elf I need to talk to.”

He turned on his heel and walked out of the library, leaving Anders fuming behind him. The conversation with Anders hadn’t been terribly edifying but it had crystallised one thing in his mind. He needed to talk to Solas otherwise this was going to fester in his mind until he did something he might regret later.

He didn’t bother to try and find the elven mage. If everyone was resting then Solas was undoubtedly doing the same and that meant he was in the Fade somewhere. He looked down at the mark on his hand. He had talked to Solas in the Fade before, though the mage had been evasive about who exactly had instigated that. Justice must have drawn him in to his part of the Fade but he suspected he might at least be able to get Solas’ attention. Maybe. He could only try. He suspected Solas might be less evasive with his answers in the Fade where there was no one else to hear them so he was willing to go to a place where he really wasn’t comfortable. He wanted the truth.

He returned to Hawke’s bedroom and chuckled when he saw his lover sprawled across the bed. He propped his sword against the wall and stripped off his armour before crawling into the bed. Hawke unconsciously made room for him and then, when he settled himself with his back to Hawke’s chest, curled around him protectively, snuffling into the back of his neck before falling quiet again. Fenris breathed deeply then closed his eyes. He’d always been able to fall asleep easily, a trick learned as a slave when you slept when and where you could, and as he did, he focused all his mind on Solas.

As such, he was unsurprised to find himself standing in the yard outside the Chantry in Haven again. Solas was standing nearby, eyeing him curiously and with no little amusement.

“Your will is very… loud when you want it to be,” the mage said dryly. “And insistent.”

“Good,” Fenris said flatly. He braced himself on his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “I spoke to Justice.”

Solas eyed Fenris’ combative pose with a raised eyebrow. “Indeed? Is he well?”

“Yes.” Fenris’ gaze was sharp. “He says you’re not what you seem and that I should beware of you.”

Solas stilled and he became wary and tense and Fenris knew right then and there that Justice was right. Solas was hiding something important.

“I see.”

“What is it?”

“It is nothing that will affect the purpose of the Inquisition,” Solas replied, looking a little unhappy.

Fenris snorted. “I usually find that when people say things like that, they mean the exact opposite.”

“I would do _nothing_ to harm the Inquisition,” Solas snapped. He started to pace a little. “Can you not trust my word on this, Fenris?”

“No.” Fenris tensed all over then forced himself to relax. “I… allowed myself to trust you. I do not do that lightly, especially with a mage.”

Solas stopped and looked at Fenris. His expression was one of wonder and sorrow and a myriad of other emotions Fenris could not put a name to. The mage came over and placed one hand on the side of Fenris’ face in a gesture that he’d seen Hawke use with Carver but had never experienced himself. A… _familial_ gesture. It shook him more than a little.

“I know,” Solas said quietly. “I _know_.”

The mage whirled away and paced again, muttering to himself in something that sounded like Elvhen. Fenris had never seen Solas like this before. He almost seemed like an entirely different person. He seemed… wild and feral, like an untamed creature, torn between something Fenris couldn’t understand. Finally he came to a halt and turned to stare at Fenris.

“You,” he said quietly. “ _You_. You changed everything. I _must_ follow my path but you changed everything and I did not expect that.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Nothing has gone as I expected, not even this.”

Fenris tensed, unable to understand what Solas was talking about and… _afraid_ of the mage in a way he hadn’t been even when he’d first met him. Solas seemed to realise that and for a moment, he looked torn and uncertain. Then he laughed softly.

“Everything good I have done has come when I took a chance,” he murmured, more to himself than to Fenris. “When I threw myself into the Abyss and took a chance that I could fly. It’s only when I plan things that they go wrong. If I had done what I first wanted to do instead of concocting grand plans, maybe none of this would have happened.”

He looked at Fenris. “So first, I will give something back to you. Something I took from you. You will be angry with me and I will deserve that anger. For I took something from you without permission that I now know is more valuable to you than all the gold in Thedas. A memory.”

Fenris stiffened but then Solas had touched his hand to his forehead and a memory bloomed to life both in his mind and around them. A meeting in a forest, not long before Haven. Fenris pulled away and the scene around them died. He glared at Solas.

“What did you do?” he snarled.

“Forgive me,” Solas said, bowing his head. “I took that memory from you without your permission. I did not think to do harm, only to protect myself. I was wrong and I will not do so again.”

Fenris found that he was somewhat mollified by the apology. Not entirely but enough to let him think. Because it was a genuine apology, not one that tried to absolve Solas of blame or really excuse what he had done. It admitted fault and promised not to repeat the mistake. He’d rarely received apologies like that.

“Who are you?” he growled. He might be somewhat appeased by the apology but he was not happy.

Solas smiled faintly and rather wryly. He seemed to argue with himself for a moment longer and then made a decision. “My name truly _is_ Solas. There was no reason not to use it because I am not known now by that name. The Dalish called me Fen’Harel.”

“The Dread Wolf?” Fenris said cautiously, disbelievingly. “Their trickster god?”

Oddly enough, it was the expressions that washed over Solas’ face at that question that convinced Fenris that the mage was telling the truth more than anything he might say next. The exasperation, the derision, the frustration and the annoyance were not faked and were… interesting to say the least.

“I am not a _god_ ,” Solas snapped. “None of them were. The Evanuris were powerful mages, yes, but not _gods_ , for all their delusions of grandeur.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow. What kind of god denies being a god? “Did you lock them away?”

Solas stilled and sighed, bowing his head. “Yes, I did but not for the reasons the Dalish think.” When he looked up, Fenris was startled by the sorrow and weariness on his face. “They had turned into tyrants, drunk on their power and dominion. I had done what I could, opposed them where I could, taken their slaves and freed them.”

“Slaves?” Fenris snarled.

Solas’ smile was a bitter thing, so terribly, horribly bitter that it short-circuited Fenris’ sudden anger. “Yes, the Evanuris enslaved their own people.” He then suddenly looked at Fenris with a pleading expression, one hand outstretched. “I did not. I _would_ not. Please believe me.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “I do.”

Solas sighed with relief. “I freed them whenever I could. Took them to safe places, removed their vallaslin and taught them the truth about their _gods_.” The sneer on that last word was scorching. “The Evanuris scorned me, called me Fen’Harel as an insult, so I chose to claim it and wear the name as a badge of honour to spite them. I know not how it would have gone but then…” He bowed his head again. “They killed Mythal. Murdered the best of them because she spoke out against them. I could not let that stand.” He raised his head and there was only sorrow on his face. “She was my friend.”

Solas started pacing again and Fenris watched him closely. This was outside any experience he’d had before and he honestly didn’t know what to make of what Solas was saying.

“I wanted to punish them,” Solas said, shaking his head. “So for once in my life I planned and plotted beyond the immediate.” He gave a short sharp laugh. “I was never one for extensive planning. Perhaps that was my mistake.” He shook his head. “It took time to plan but… we were immortal. What did I have but time? Then I went to a place I had made in the mountains and executed my plans. I brought down the Veil.”

“The Veil?” Fenris said sharply. “You… created the Veil? Then before…?”

Solas nodded and smiled faintly. “Yes, I did and yes, before then there was no separation between our world and the Fade. We existed as one, elves and the spirits of the Fade. The world was full of magic and Arlathan shone brightly.”

Fenris felt more than a little discomforted at the idea of using magic, which he knew had an edge of hypocrisy about it given his lyrium markings and the anchor on his hand, but his feelings about magic came from experience.

“Why create the Veil then?” he asked, almost in spite of himself.

“I wanted to imprison them,” Solas said. “Punish them for their crime. I did not think I would destroy the world.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow. “The world does not look overly destroyed to me.”

Solas seemed to slump and cringe. “It is… it is like looking at a world without sound or colour, inhabited by the Tranquil. When I woke from the Uthenera, I could barely recognise them as people.”

Fenris gave him a highly unimpressed look and had the satisfaction of watching the mage turn away, shamefaced. “What changed?”

“Nothing. At first.” Solas shook his head. “I never meant to shatter Arlathan and destroy my people. But I have. I see them scattered, mistreated, slaves or the ruins of the Dalish.”

“So help them,” Fenris said flatly. 

“I intend to,” Solas replied. “I will tear down the Veil and restore the Elven empire, give back what I took from them.”

“That’s not helping.” Fenris snorted. “Have you bothered to ask the elves what they want?”

Solas looked startled then he shook his head. “I have tried approaching the Dalish in the past. They have turned me away.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “I wonder why,” he muttered. “What would happen if you tore down the Veil? Wouldn’t the Evanuris be able to escape? Won’t they just go back to what they were doing before?”

“I intend to take care of _that_ ,” Solas said with an edge of viciousness Fenris had never seen before. It didn’t impress him.

“Uhuh,” he said instead. “And how do you think that will go?”

Solas glared at him. “You think I should do _nothing_?”

“Of course not,” Fenris retorted. “But destroying the world _again_ won’t help the elves.” His eyes narrowed. “This… the breach… is it your fault?” Solas flinched and Fenris felt rage coil within him. “It _was_.”

“It was not my intention…” Solas began but Fenris cut him off.

“Your _intention_ doesn’t matter.”

He saw the moment when Solas began to get angry and he felt he should be worried, perhaps even afraid – Solas might not claim to be a god but he knew the Dalish legends said he was kin to the Creators and that meant he must be as powerful as they were, especially if he _created_ the Veil – but instead he was _angry_. This mark, the complete disruption to his life, everything that had happened since the explosion at the Conclave, would not have happened if not for Solas’ actions and thus his anger was overriding his common sense right now.

“What would you have me do?” Solas snarled, though Fenris quickly realised that this wasn’t Solas precisely. This was _Fen’Harel_ , the Dread Wolf, the mocking name made into something to be feared.

“What makes you think _I_ know,” he snapped. “All I do know is that destroying the world will solve _nothing_.”

“ _I_ did this,” Solas growled. “I reduced the elves to _nothing_.”

“So?” Fenris said in the tone of voice Hawke had always said was his most offensive. “If you care that much, free them. Reclaim the land the elves were promised by Andraste. Help them rebuild elven civilisation.”

“But they could have so much _more_! They could have everything I took from them, from their magic to their empire.” 

Fenris just looked unimpressed. “Then ask them what they want. Maybe they don’t want it. Maybe they do but don’t like the price attached to it. Maybe they do and don’t care about the price. Either way, you’re making their decision _for_ them and from experience, that’s not the answer. And this? This seems like what this Evanuris of yours would do.”

The wave of fury that burst from Solas was palpable and Fenris wondered for a moment if the ancient elven mage was going to strike him down where he stood. Which made him wonder what actually happened if a non-mage was killed in the Fade. Did they become Tranquil like a mage?

Then as quickly as it had risen, the fury faded and Solas just looked defeated. “I destroyed it all and reduced the People to nothing.”

Fenris felt a pang of sympathy. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the world Solas had lived in or what it had been like to wake up and find everything so changed. He knew what the Uthenera was. He remembered Merrill prattling on about it one time when they were on the Sundermount for some reason that he couldn’t remember right now. 

“Would it have happened anyway?” When Solas gave him a blank look, he continued, “Would it all have fallen apart anyway? You said the Evanuris were tyrants, that they were enslaving the elves. I assume they were corrupt?”

“Yes,” Solas said with a frown then he looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. “No, they would never have done something like creating the Veil.”

“That you know of,” Fenris pointed out. “Did you intend to cut the Fade off entirely from the world?”

“No,” Solas said slowly. “I knew the effect of my spell would be… great but not that it would destroy Arlathan and the elves.”

“So they might have tried something different and got a similar effect?”

Solas looked amused. “Are you… counselling me, Inquisitor? I expected more anger.”

“I am angry,” Fenris replied. “But I am of this world and would like it to stay how it is. I have no interest in the world as it was several thousand years ago and I _absolutely_ have no interest in becoming a mage.”

“Fenris,” Solas began.

“No,” Fenris said firmly. “If I want anything for the elves, it is that they be free, that they are treated as equals by the humans, even that the land that was promised is returned. What good is your world if you have to destroy everything to get it?” His expression hardened. “Because I will tell you this, Fen’Harel, if your actions cost me Hawke, I will _never_ let you rest. I will hunt you down and take his worth to me out of your flesh and soul. _Nothing_ , not all the wonders of Arlathan, would be worth losing him. Not to me.”

Solas looked startled and then troubled. “You give me much to think about.”

Fenris snorted. That sentence alone said that Solas had not abandoned his plans but he supposed getting him to think about them was worth something.

“There are few who have ever spoken to me like that,” Solas said with a faint smile.

“I have gained very little from being subservient,” Fenris replied.

Solas shook his head, chuckling softly. “You have surprised me every step of the way, Fenris. You would have been magnificent walking the paths of Arlathan. If only there had been more like you.”

Fenris snorted derisively. “I am the product of my world, my past, my experiences, Solas. Had I been in Arlathan, I would have been very different.”

Solas blinked and acknowledged the truth of that with a nod. “And will you tell the others?”

“No,” Fenris said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m still surprised you told me.”

“You have confounded my expectations at every turn,” Solas replied, looking troubled again. “You have not been what I expected.” His eyes widened for a moment. “I do not mean that as an insult, simply… you are different.”

Fenris shrugged. “You have met Dalish elves and city elves. I am neither.”

Solas cocked his head and looked at Fenris thoughtfully. “Perhaps. You are… unexpected. You have shown me that my initial assumptions about the people of this world were wrong. I am…” 

He shook his head and looked away and Fenris _knew_ then absolutely that Solas had not in any way abandoned his plans. Well, that was alright. They still had time to convince him otherwise. Or stop him outright. Assuming they weren’t all killed by Corypheus. And speaking of that subject…

“What more do you know about Corypheus that you did not tell me before?”

Solas sighed. “Very little. I do not know how he managed to survive the explosion. He was meant to die when activating my orb.”

“Your orb,” Fenris said flatly. He reviewed what Solas had told him and his eyes narrowed. “You… have not precisely lied to me.”

“I have told some lies of omission,” Solas admitted. “I have been… vague about the origins of some information I have given you and the others. But I have done my best not to lie to you outright.”

Fenris eyes him curiously. “Why did you not lie to me now? You could have. There are any number of explanations you could have offered.”

“That is true,” Solas said. He was silent for a moment then he shook his head. “I thought about it. I almost did. Perhaps if you were one of the Dalish or a city elf or an elven mage of the Circle, I would have. But you have been a slave, you have been treated most appallingly and you have come out of it… remarkable. Capable of love and justice and kindness, humour and gentleness and even the ability to aid one whom you do not like.” He looked away for a moment and licked his lips. “I found I couldn’t lie to you, no matter what the cost might be.”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed. “What the cost might be?”

“You could strike me down here and leave me Tranquil,” Solas said simply. “That would end those plans of mine with which you so vehemently disagree before they could ever begin.”

Fenris jerked back and then realised… Solas was right. He could do that. Solas would undoubtedly fight back but he could easily get a killing blow in, especially if his markings worked anywhere near normally here. He could end it right now and even as he thought it, there was a terrible, horrible temptation to do so. In his own way, Solas did remind him of the Magisters of Tevinter – powerful, terrifying and convinced he was right and willing to do whatever was necessary to finish his task. He could save the world with one blow right now.

And from the way Solas was watching him, he knew exactly what Fenris was thinking. 

He slowly shook his head. “I could but I will not. Not unless you leave me no other option. Until then…” He swallowed. “You have taught me that I need not fear every mage, you have helped me and you have been… a friend. If there is another way, then I would find it and until I have exhausted all other options… I will stay my hand.”

Solas smiled slowly and then inclined his head slightly. “Thank you, da’len. Now, I think it is time that we both… _wake up_.”

Fenris’s eyes flew open and he drew in a gasping breath as he realised he was awake in Hawke’s bedroom again. Hawke shifted in his sleep behind him, nuzzling into the back of his neck, and Fenris slowly relaxed. He gotten his answers and they were not at all what he’d expected. He still hadn’t quite wrapped his mind around them and he suspected he wouldn’t be able to do that any time soon. But he could at least start now. He shifted back into Hawke’s loose embrace and began to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I mentioned, this - the early reveal of who Solas is - was kind of where I've been heading since the beginning of the fic. That's why I had them meet before the Conclave rather than just dropping Fenris in the deep end without it. It also involves some of my headcanon. Because we know from things Patrick Weekes has said that Solas was on the verge of telling a romanced Lavellan who he was before he chickened out so he's not unwilling to tell that secret, you just have to be special. And Fenris sits in an odd position for an elf. He's not Dalish. He's not a city elf as we've seen them presented in DAO and DA2. While being a former slave might look like it puts him in the city elf box, he never acts like one. He refuses to move out of his purloined mansion in Hightown, he stands up as a free ~~elf~~ person and he never really puts himself in a position to be associated with either the Dalish or the city elves. So he's not anything Solas has seen since he woke up. My headcanon for this fic is that Solas sees a lot of Felassan in Fenris and he regrets what he did to Felassan, so Fenris has been able to get under his skin more than anyone else. Also the fact that Fenris was a slave hits a few of Solas' buttons.
> 
> That's not to say that Solas isn't currently sitting in the room he's been given in Hawke's house, regretting that he didn't lie. Fenris has surprised him many times but this... is big and he's very aware that Fenris means every word of the threat he issued in regards to losing Hawke.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris goes to visit and old... er, friend. Yes, we'll call her a friend even though Fenris is grumbling about that. They have an interesting conversation and Fenris decides to kep Solas on his toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, has it really been that long since I updated? I am sorry. This chapter was a bear because, yes, the friend is Merrill and I got all frowny faced at my first effort. She was a Keeper's First, dammit. She is not a ditzy as she seems. You can't be a complete ditz and be a First. Also I played with a little bit of my headcanon about her deal with that demon. She's actually got the same opinions about spirits as Solas so I figure she does actually know what she's doing.

When Hawke walked into the main room, he became aware that there were several different levels of tension flowing through the room. Fenris was leaning over the small desk in the corner, muttering imprecations under his breath as he read through several missives that had obviously arrived while they were all resting. From time to time, his lover was shooting odd glances over at Solas, who was leaning against the wall on the other side of the staircase, outwardly perusing one of the books from Hawke’s library but in reality subtly watching Fenris. The elven mage seemed… oddly tense and off-kilter and he seemed intent on avoiding Fenris’ eyes whenever the Inquisitor looked at him.

On the other side of the room, Anders was sprawled in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, looking sullen and sulky. Theo and Lorelai were huddled together nearby and they seemed as aware of the tension in the room as Hawke was… and as baffled by it as he was too. There was no sign of Cole but as Hawke took the final step down into the room, the door to the foyer opened and Cullen, Dorian and Aveline walked in. The Guard Captain had a look of amused exasperation on her face while Dorian was grinning mischievously and Cullen was rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish look on his face.

“So, Aveline, do I want to know?” Hawke asked, drawing everyone’s attention.

“No, you do not,” she said firmly though Hawke could see the amusement in her eyes. Obviously Dorian and Cullen’s shenanigans had the same effect on her as his and Fenris’ did. “ _I_ did not want to know.”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said, firmly fixing his attention on Fenris in an obvious attempt to derail the conversation that had him so flustered. “I’ve spoken to the captain of our ship. He’d like to leave first thing tomorrow morning and has requested that we board this evening.”

Fenris looked over at Cullen then nodded tersely. “Alright. Let’s get ready to go then.”

The Inquisitor straightened and just for a moment, his eyes met those of Solas. It would have taken someone utterly dense not to feel the charge of tension that suddenly ratcheted up in the room and while Hawke would admit to being _oblivious_ on occasion, he was _not_ dense. He was also very confused and when he glanced around the room, he noticed everyone else was in the same boat.

Fenris’ relationship with Solas was, strangely enough, a good one. Hawke wouldn’t call it paternal in any way but certainly Solas seemed to care deeply about Fenris and his welfare and Fenris was willing to allow that, seemed to almost like it. But this… this was different. Hawke wouldn’t call it antagonistic but it was certainly… tense. And it was _Solas_ who was giving Fenris the placating looks. What in Andraste’s name had happened while he was asleep?

Then the strange tension broke as Fenris turned away and stomped up the stairs. Hawke glanced at the elven mage but Solas was staring down at the ground and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. His body language was unassuming and even deferential. Hawke gave a shrug and then followed his lover up the stairs. When he got to the bedroom, Fenris was shoving the few things he’d brought with him back into his bag.

“Everything okay, love?” Hawke asked, leaning against the door jamb.

Fenris grunted in return and Hawke raised an eyebrow. He pushed off the door frame and walked into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Fenris?”

The elf stopped, facing away from Hawke, and his shoulders sagged. “I do not wish to talk about it.”

Hawke closed the gap between them and gently wrapped his arms around Fenris’ waist. His lover tensed for a moment then sighed and relaxed, leaning back into him. Hawke took the opportunity to kiss the side of Fenris’ neck, sucking a little on the lyrium brands and gaining a shiver as his reward.

“Okay,” he said easily. “But is it something I should worry about?”

Fenris hesitated for a long moment. “No.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. So, from that response and his long expertise in Fenris’ unspoken language, it probably was something he should worry about but Fenris wasn’t ready to talk about it just yet. Which meant that it was worrying and important but it wasn’t urgent or immediately life and death. He knew there was no point pushing Fenris. He didn’t take well to it and would get angry, defensive and possibly even downright dangerous. And Hawke wasn’t interested in sleeping on the couch for the next week or so.

“Okay,” he said then he pondered the matter for a moment and decided he had to ask the next question for the sake of the Inquisition. “Is it something the Inquisition should worry about?”

Fenris actually flinched in his embrace and he lowered his head so that he was resting his forehead on Fenris’ shoulder. It made him seem both affectionate and protective and a little submissive at the same time. From the little grumble he got, he knew Fenris was aware of what he was doing but when one hand squeezed the arm he had wrapped around his lover’s waist, he knew his actions were acknowledged and appreciated.

“I…” Fenris began then he sighed. “Yes and no.”

“But it involves Solas?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Hawke snorted and kissed the side of Fenris’ neck. “You gave him a look that could strip paint, love. Everyone noticed.”

Fenris sighed again. “Yes, it involves Solas,” he said irritably. “It is… complicated and I haven’t grasped the full implications of it yet myself.” 

Fenris went silent but from the way he was holding himself, he was thinking very hard so Hawke waited. He was rewarded when Fenris pulled away just far enough to turn around.

“I need to speak to Merrill.”

Hawke’s eyebrows went up. Of all the things he’d expected Fenris to say, that wasn’t one of them. “Merrill?”

“Yes, the annoying blood mage who insists on being perpetually cheerful in inappropriate circumstances,” Fenris said with exasperation.

Hawke grinned. “You know, being with the Inquisition has really brought out your sarcastic side. It’s a good look on you, love.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Do we have time?”

Hawke nodded. “Should do, as long as you don’t intend to ask for her life story.”

Fenris considered the idea he’d had for a moment then nodded to himself. “Take the others and get on the ship. I’ll meet you there.”

“You don’t want me to come with you?”

Fenris shook his head then caressed Hawke’s cheek. “No. This is… I need to keep this to myself for the moment. Please.”

“Hey,” Hawke said. He leaned down and kissed Fenris. “Of course. You know I trust you.”

Fenris kissed him back fiercely then tore himself away and headed down the stairs. Hawke followed more slowly, hearing the half-formed questions from the others as Fenris left the house. He made his way down the stairs and stopped a short way from the bottom. He clapped his hands a couple of times and grinned when everyone jumped and turned to look at him.

“Hawke…” Cullen began and Hawke waved him silent.

“Fenris has something he needs to do,” Hawke said. “He wants us to head for the ship and wait for him. He’ll meet us there.”

“Where’s he gone?” Cullen asked, slipping into Commander mode.

“To see an old friend of ours,” Hawke replied. He got some curious looks from Aveline and Varric, who both knew that the only one of their friends who was still in Kirkwall was Merrill. “He asked us to trust him.” 

And yes, alright, he hadn’t said those exact words, not even to Hawke, but that was what he’d meant.

Cullen nodded, willing to accept the orders even if he still looked a little troubled about the way Fenris had stormed out. “Alright.”

**

Fenris made his way through the familiar streets of Kirkwall, almost unconsciously slipping into his old habits of keeping to the edges and taking alleys as often as he could. He drew even less attention now than he had before despite the enormous sword he carried on his back and he assumed it was because the new armour he wore was less distinctive than his old armour. No matter what the reason, it didn’t take long to make his way to alienage and he was knocking on Merrill’s door far sooner than he was really ready for.

The door opened to reveal the elven blood mage and for a moment she stared at him blankly before recognition flooded over her face.

“Fenris! You look much better in that armour. It’s not as spiky. Oh! Should I be calling you Inquisitor? I heard about what happened at the Conclave. Everyone’s very excited about having an elf as Inquisitor, especially when they realised they knew you.”

Fenris felt the familiar sense of exasperation that always came from dealing with Merrill wash over him but he gritted his teeth and tried for something as close to a smile as he could manage.

“Merrill, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Of course,” she said, stepping back and waving him inside her house. “Though I see your smiles haven’t gotten any better. You should try baring your teeth a little less. It makes you look like a rather unfriendly wolf.”

“Merrill!” Fenris snapped as she closed the door. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a couple of deep breaths. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Merrill was watching him with a faint sense of amusement and he scowled at her. He’d always suspected that not all of her babble came from idiocy. He might not know much about the Dalish but he did know that you didn’t get to be a Keeper’s First if you were an idiot.

“Well, at least that hasn’t changed,” she said whimsically. “Can I get you some tea? I’m afraid I don’t have any wine.”

Fenris shook his head. “What can you tell me about Fen’Harel?”

Merrill blinked and looked a bit surprised at the question. She didn’t ask him why he was asking though. “Fen’Harel or the Dread Wolf is kin to the Creators and the Forgotten Ones admired him and saw him as one of their own because of his cunning and guile. That’s how he tricked both groups when he said he was brokering a truce between them. He told the Creators that they needed to keep to the heavens and that the Forgotten Ones should return to the abyss. They all trusted him and were tricked when he sealed them all away.”

Fenris frowned and nodded as he began pacing. That tallied with everything he’d known before Solas’ revelation, even if it didn’t exactly tally with what Solas himself had said.

“Does he lie?”

Merrill looked confused and curious but she had once been her clan’s First and now she seemed to slip back into that role without effort. “Well… many of the People would probably say yes but… that’s not entirely accurate. It would be more accurate to say that the answer is both yes and no and neither at all. It is said that if you appeal to the Dread Wolf for aid, he will give it to you.” She smiled slightly. “Just not in the way you might have hoped for. He _will_ help you though.”

Fenris wasn’t sure her answers had really helped him that much. “What do _you_ think?”

“I think we don’t know the truth of things,” she said promptly. “And I fear that many of the things we do hold as truths are in fact falsehoods. So much was lost, Fenris, when Arlathan fell and the elven empire crumbled. We’ve recovered only the barest fraction of it and most of that is only bits and pieces and not well understood at all.”

Fenris started pacing again, his frown deepening as he tried to work what he could ask that might help him figure out what was going on in his head. Merrill watched him silently for a time until she could no longer hold herself back.

“Fenris? What’s wrong? You’ve never been interested in the Dalish before.”

For a moment it looked like Fenris hadn’t heard her then he suddenly stopped and whirled around to face her. “Do you believe Fen’Harel is real?”

Merrill frowned and then laughed a little. “Of course he’s real, Fenris. Just like the Creators are real and the Forgotten Ones are real. Maybe they’re not exactly what our stories claim for them but that doesn’t mean they’re not real.”

“So you believe he sealed away the Creators?”

Merrill nodded. “Yes. I don’t think it was about any truce, though I’m sure that’s what he told _them_.” She ducked her head a little. “Keeper Marethari and I used to argue about that all the time. Not that she entirely disagreed with me. She just felt that if I was going to have that opinion, I ought to be able to defend it when challenged.”

“So what do you think it was about?”

“I don’t know,” Merrill said simply. “All we have left of that time are stories of unknown origins.” She frowned slightly. “The demon I was talking to about the eluvian implied that the stories were wrong.” She gave him an arch look when he opened his mouth and he fell silent. “And yes, Fenris, I know that demons lie. I’m not the fool you think I am. Nevertheless, I don’t think the demon was lying about that. It looked too… smug. Like it knew the knowledge that we had yet another thing wrong would hurt and it wanted to cause that hurt.”

Fenris frowned and started pacing again. He was inclined to believe her. Solas had talked to him more than once about spirits and demons and the differences between then and how the Fade and the spirits were mutable. That a spirit of Wisdom would become a Pride demon if that’s what you were expecting. He winced a little as he remembered Solas’ friend in the Exalted Plains. That had been… ugly, though he still felt no remorse at letting Solas deal with the idiot Kirkwall mages who had started that.

“Fenris? Why the interest in Fen’Harel?”

Fenris came to a halt in the doorway that lead into the rest of the small hovel and stared at the eluvian that Merrill had been trying to reconstruct for as long as he’d known her. He wasn’t sure whether what she’d said had helped at all. He wasn’t sure what questions he wanted to ask in the first place.

“Fenris?”

He turned around. “How did you know the demon wouldn’t…?”

“Betray me?” Merrill looked faintly amused. “It certainly tried.” She sighed and looked sad. “I wish the Keeper had trusted me. I did know what I was doing. I’d promised nothing to the demon but information. Relatively harmless information as well.”

“Information?” Fenris said with a blink.

Merrill huffed and rolled her eyes. “I told you I knew what I was doing. I was trying to contact a spirit of Wisdom but the only one that knew anything about eluvians had already been warped into a demon by someone else. That made it difficult but not impossible to get what I wanted.”

Fenris stared at her for a moment then dismissed that train of thought. It wasn’t where he wanted to go right now.

“If you could go back to Arlathan, if it… if the Elvhen empire could be recreated now, would you want that?”

Merrill frowned at him and looked like she wanted to ask all sorts of questions. Instead she contented herself with one. “What would it cost?”

“Everything,” Fenris said bluntly. “The world as it is now would be destroyed and replaced with what once was.”

“That’s impossible,” Merril said. “Fenris, what’s gone is gone. It can’t be brought back. The destruction of Arlathan is a tragedy that cost the elves dearly but it’s gone. We can’t recreate it, we can only build something new.”

“What of it _could_ be brought back?” Fenris persisted. “Including things like the elven magic and immortality.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d want to be immortal,” Merrill said rather reprovingly. “And what would happen to the humans and dwarves and Qunari and the elves who didn’t want this?”

“They’d be destroyed,” Fenris replied. “Maybe.”

“Then I definitely wouldn’t want it.” Merril sighed when she got up and started preparing two cups of tea. “There are many things that could be improved, Fenris, but destroying things doesn’t do that. _Can’t_ do it. All destroying things does is… well, destroy things. There’s always a better way than destruction.”

She puttered around for a moment and brought one of the cups of tea over to Fenris. He accepted for lack of anything better to do and then she went and sat down again. She patted the table and gave him an encouraging look and he was suddenly struck by how much her clan had lost when they exiled her. He wasn’t sure if it was a comfortable thought or not but he did go and sit down opposite her again.

“Is there any evidence that the destruction of this world would really bring back the glory of Arlathan?” she asked in a matter-of-fact tone. She had not once really pushed to find out what this was about, simply trusting that Fenris would tell her if it was important.

“No,” he said after a moment of thought. “And it would…” He paused. “You said you didn’t know if the Creators were what the stories tell of them.”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Like everything about ancient elven culture, we only have the stories. Why?”

Fenris took a sip of the tea and stared down at the table. He wasn’t sure he wanted to or even should tell her about Solas and who he really was and it would be hard to ask a lot of questions or give her a lot of information without hitting that as a problem.

“You can ask whatever you want, you know?” she said gently when he’d hesitated for a bit too long. “I won’t pry and I promise that not a word of this will ever get to anyone else.”

Fenris wrestled with himself for a moment longer. He might not exactly _like_ Merrill but oddly enough, he did trust her when she said things like that.

“What if I were to tell you that Fen’Harel is real, that he did shut the Creators away but that the Creators were not gods, just very powerful mages who had become tyrants who enslaved their own people?” he said defiantly, almost challengingly. “That they murdered Mythal and Fen’Harel brought down the Veil to imprison them for their crime but in doing so he destroyed the elven empire and Arlathan and now he wants to reverse what he did.”

Merrill’s eyes went very wide as she listened and her hand went up to cover her mouth. But she didn’t say anything immediately. Instead she lowered her hand and sipped at her tea as she considered what he’d said.

“I think you’re telling the truth,” she said softly. “I don’t know how you know that or what has happened but I think you _are_ telling the truth.” She sighed and looked a little defeated. “And that means we have it all wrong.” She perked up a bit. “Well, except for the bit about Fen’Harel being real and imprisoning the Creators. He really did do that, just not for the reasons we thought.”

She cradled her teacup in her hands. “He can’t do it, you know? Restore everything to what it was, that is. I mean, if he raised the Veil, he can probably tear it down again but that won’t solve anything.” She looked up at him, her expression a little sad and a little quizzical. “We’re not those elves. Even if we were to be given back the magic and immortality we once had, even if he could recreate Arlathan, it still wouldn’t be the same. It still wouldn’t be the world he remembered because _we’re_ not the same. _Elves_. We’re different. The world as it is now has changed us fundamentally and I wouldn’t say it’s in a bad way either. There are bad things to be sure but overall, we are still a strong people in spite of those bad things. Or maybe because of them.”

“Besides,” she said in a far more crisp tone. “Too many of us are, well, rather down-trodden. I shudder to think what some of us would do if we were given so much power without having to earn it. Anger and bitterness and power are not a good combination, Fenris. If the lowering of the Veil destroys this world and the people in it, except for the protected elves, then there would be no one for them to turn that anger and bitterness on except each other and the rest of the elves.”

She smiled faintly. “And if the Creators were indeed tyrants then releasing _them_ is not a good thing either. Fen’Harel may have a way of stopping them but could he really? Could we rely on that? _Absolutely_? And they would want their world to be just like it was, wouldn’t they? We’ve had enough subjugation from humans, we don’t need it from our gods.”

Fenris set his tea cup aside and cradled his face in his hands. That was what he’d wanted to hear. Merrill had somehow managed to clearly and precisely articulate all his tumultuous thoughts without even knowing what they were. 

“And anyway,” Merrill said, sounding rather mischievous. “I don’t think you’re a very good candidate to have magic, Fenris. You don’t like it very much.”

He raised his head to glare at her but she just smiled impishly at him in return and he could do little more than snort and shake his head.

“Of course, there are those who would disagree with me,” she said brightly. “I can think of at least four right here in the alienage who would love to have magic and be feared and powerful. But they do rather fall into that ‘would not handle sudden power well’ category. Either way, destroying this world to create a new one didn’t work very well the first time Fen’Harel tried it, I can’t imagine it would work any better this time round.”

Fenris snorted. “It certainly hasn’t so far,” he said without thinking.

Merrill’s eyes went wide and she glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the Breach. Or rather the direction the Breach would have been if they’d been outside to see it. It was small from here but still very, very real. She then looked down at the mark on his hand and he could see her putting things together in her mind.

“Fenris,” she said, very soberly and showing no signs of her usual fluttery attitude as she gestured towards his marked hand. “Did Fen’Harel… you have met Him, haven’t you? Did He do this to you?”

Fenris was silent and he clenched his hand in a fist. She gently laid her hands over his fist and gasped a little as she felt the power of the Anchor.

“I won’t say anything,” she said in that serious and sober tone. “No one will ever know about this conversation unless you give me permission. I _promise_.”

“Yes,” he said in a low voice. “He is real, I have met him and he is an ass.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Merrill said then she smiled when he glared at her. “You wouldn’t be like this if you didn’t like him and he’s disappointing you. You were never concerned about my actions or Anders’ actions because you don’t like us.”

“I don’t…” Fenris began, frowning.

“It’s alright, you know?” Merrill said, patting his hand. “I understand why, even if I think you’re being a bit unfair. But no one said life was supposed to be fair and you have good cause to dislike magic in general and blood magic in particular.”

Fenris stared at her for a moment then he shook his head. “I… I do like him. He has been helpful. He sorted out the initial problems between the mark and my brands.”

“Is the mark his fault?”

“Yes. No.” Fenris scowled. “Not really. It’s… complicated. It’s Corypheus’ fault. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Merrill squeaked. “Corypheus? That darkspawn creature you and Hawke went and fought? I thought you killed him?”

“I did. _We_ did,” Fenris growled. “He seems to be able to circumvent that, though we don’t know how.”

“Oh, dear.” Merril looked worried. “That’s not good.” She frowned. “How is Corypheus connected to Fen’Harel?” She paused. “What’s he like? Fen’Harel?”

“Disappointing,” Fenris said dryly and Merrill giggled a little. “He was trying to take down the Veil but he needed more power. He was using Corypheus but things didn’t go the way he planned.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “That does seem to be the story of his life actually.”

Merrill giggled again then looked rather appalled at herself. “Goodness! I shouldn’t be laughing at a god.”

“He’s not a god,” Fenris said acerbically. “And he’d tell you that himself. He’s a mage and an idiot.”

Merrill clapped her hand over her mouth for a moment, her eyes dancing with mirth. “You’ve said that to his face, haven’t you? Oh, Fenris. I wouldn’t dare, god or not.”

“I’m not Dalish,” Fenris said flatly. “The Creators aren’t _my_ gods and he deserved to hear it.”

“Still,” Merrill said then she composed herself. “Is the Breach his fault?”

“Not directly,” Fenris replied. “Corypheus had his orb and was trying to use it to gain access to the Golden City so he could become a god. He was using the Divine as a sacrifice. Before he could finish, I… interrupted. The Divine knocked the orb out of his hand, I picked it up and… everything exploded.”

“Oh dear,” Merril said, looking worried. “I see what you mean about things not going the way he planned.” She cocked her head slightly. “What do you intend to do?”

“Find Corpyheus, kill him then deal with Fen’Harel,” Fenris said flatly. “He’s hellbent on his plans but he doesn’t seem opposed to me trying to find a way to convince him otherwise.”

Merrill smiled slightly. “That’s interesting. If I can help at all, you know you only need to ask.”

Fenris had to admit that was a tempting idea. Putting Solas and Merrill in the same room would be entertaining at the very least. Merrill wasn’t intimidated by much and she could certainly stand her ground when she decided it was necessary. It might be interesting to see Solas taken to task by one of the very people he dismissed as not being worth his time and effort. Even more so because Merrill seemed to share his attitude and opinions about spirits and demons.

“You are busy here?” he asked, not sure what he was _really_ asking.

“Yes but nothing that I can’t set aside,” she said, looking surprised. “Though it would take me a few weeks to be ready.”

“I have to go to Halamshiral and save the Empress,” he grumbled.

“I can make my way to Skyhold on my own. It’s alright.”

“The eluvian?”

Merrill cocked her head to one side. “I can bring that with me. I brought it here after all.”

“I’ll send some Inquisition people to help,” Fenris said. He wasn’t sure he what he was doing and frankly he knew that bringing a known _blood mage_ to Skyhold would be problematic but… something about it _felt_ right.

“Oh, would you?” Merrill said. “That would make it so much easier.”

“Try not to use blood magic in front of anyone,” he grumbled. “Josephine has enough trouble keeping people from overreacting about the mages as it is.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “I’m not an idiot, Fenris.”

“So you say,” he said in a deliberately offensive manner that drew a laugh out of her

She waggled a finger at him. “I’d believe your grouching much more if I didn’t know how much you love Hawke.”

“Hawke isn’t a blood mage,” he said hurriedly, knowing he was blushing anyway.

“He’s still a mage.”

Fenris drained his tea and got to his feet. “I have to go. The captain of our ship wanted to leave soon.”

Merrill smiled and waved at him. “Alright. I’ll see you soon.”

Fenris grumbled under his breath as he made his way out of the alienage and towards the docks. He wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do but at least Merrill was likely to keep Solas off-balance and that could only be a good thing in his eyes.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halamshiral, the Winter Palace and the Masquerade Ball. Or as Fenris might say, " _Orlesians_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I am so sorry this has taken so long. This chapter was a pain to pummel into submission and combined with work also being a pain, the holidays and me having some health issues in the new year, it has taken a bit of time to wrangle this into shape. But here it is and hopefully, subsequent chapters will flow a bit better. I have to get Merrill to Skyhold and have her meet Solas after all. :D

Fenris had come to the conclusion that he would much rather be in the Fade, verbally sparring with Solas or even fighting the Nightmare demon, than in Halamshiral. Since they had walked in the gates, he had been sneered at, sniped at, called ‘rabbit’ or ‘knife ear’ more times than he cared to think about and had people talk about Inquisition matters to _Hawke_ instead of him until Hawke had finally gone and hidden in the library to avoid that particular situation. All in all, Fenris was half-tempted to just leave Orlais to its downfall. Only the memory of Josephine’s expression of harried desperation, her fervent prayers and the fact that he actually _liked_ his Ambassador kept him from causing a diplomatic incident that would be remembered for centuries.

He slipped through the door of the library and breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he couldn’t stay long or he’d be missed and court the disapproval of the nobles but he _needed_ some time to himself. He was fairly sure that Leliana had known what he was doing and would cover for him as long as she could as she given him a small smile and nod as he’d headed out of the ballroom.

“Fenris?”

He looked around and saw Hawke’s head poking around one of the bookshelves. He made his way over and leaned against his lover, resting his head on Hawke’s shoulder. He felt the other man chuckle and then he was wrapped up in a warm embrace.

“Like that, is it?” Hawke said fondly.

“Would it be alright to let Orlais burn?” he muttered.

Hawke chuckled. “Well, _I_ wouldn’t mind and, from the expression on his face, Cullen might actually help you but Josephine and Leliana might get a bit cross.”

Fenris snorted. Cullen was enjoying the ball as little as he was. It would be mildly entertaining if he wasn’t so annoyed. He knew Cullen was capable of playing the Game, he’d said as much in a conversation they’d had on the ship back to Ferelden, but he hated doing so and in true Fereldan fashion, he, therefore, _refused_ to do so. He had currently backed himself into a corner and actively building what social fortifications and ramparts that he could under the circumstances. He’d been tempted to send Dorian into the ballroom to rescue him but had then decided that if _he_ had to put up with everything on his own, so too could Cullen. 

“I have been called _rabbit_ three times that I have heard.”

Hawke growled. “Yeah, let ‘em burn.”

Fenris chuckled and raised his head, leaning up to kiss Hawke. His lover eagerly complied and they stayed like that for a while, just kissing softly and gently as Fenris slowly relaxed.

“Have you found anything?” Hawke said after a while.

“Assassins in the gardens, Briala sticking her nose into everything and all things pointing to Gaspard,” Fenris replied. “Which makes me think that maybe it’s not Gaspard. Not entirely anyway.”

“He’s ham-fisted enough for it to be him,” Hawke replied, looking innocent.

“And you know that how?” Fenris asked dryly.

“I may have run into a few people that we met at Chateau Haine.” Hawke winced at Fenris’ scowl. “They were helpful.”

“Because you promised them what?”

“Nothing actually.” Hawke shrugged. “They seemed to think I knew about it all already so I only needed to prod the conversation a bit for them to tell me everything.”

Fenris grunted then sighed. “I should get back.”

“Take heart,” Hawke said sympathetically. “It sounds like you’ve nearly unravelled the whole mess.”

Hawke’s words turned out to be prophetic and on their next foray into the depths of the palace, they found the Fereldan mercenary and had the most interesting encounter with the Grand Duchess. The evidence all pointed to Gaspard and though he wasn’t entirely convinced that the Grand Duke had been completely aware of his sister’s plan, he wasn’t inclined to save the man either. Gaspard was a thug and had all the subtlety of a brick thrown through a window. Which Fenris knew was a bit of a case of the pot calling the kettle black but at least he understood the need for subtlety and diplomacy. Gaspard did not and Fenris didn’t think that Thedas needed him tromping his ham-fisted way through everything. Nor did he think Fereldan really needed another Orlesian invasion simply because Gaspard wanted to show everyone how big his dick was. 

Celene might have some very large faults but she was smart, resourceful, diplomatic and inclined to seek peaceful solutions. The rest could be worked on in Fenris’ mind, particularly given she was in some part beholden to him and the Inquisition for her continued tenancy as Empress. As he took his leave from her and the party ratcheted up to a new level, he could see she was aware of that. Not only aware of it but aware that an _elf_ had saved her position and her head. She looked like she was intending to think very hard about that and from the way she was eying Briala, there were other things she intended to think about as well. Which Fenris could only consider good. Briala was as self-serving and arrogant as any other Orlesian but she was an elf from the alienages and having her voice in Celene’s ear could do some good.

Fenris stepped out onto one of the balconies and gave a sigh of relief. Josephine might prefer it if he stayed inside and made some more connections with the Orlesian nobility but he needed the break or he was going to take his sword to the lot of them.

“I understand that you have met my mother.”

Fenris turned to find Morrigan approaching in her elegant glide. “I have.” He paused for a moment. “What is she?”

“Ha!” Morrigan looked rather pleased at his question. “That is a question best left answered in less… Orlesian conditions.”

Fenris’ gaze flickered towards the doors to the balcony and the party beyond and he nodded. “Very well. Was there something you needed?”

Morrigan came up to stand beside him. “Empress Celene has ordered me to join the Inquisition to offer my assistance however I can and I believe I can of great assistance to you.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “And do you _want_ to join the Inquisition?”

“There is a hole in the sky and a darkspawn Magister threatening the world,” she said dryly. “Even I do not care to see what kind of future Corypheus would bring about so yes, I wish to aid you however I can.”

Fenris considered her for a moment. He knew, from what she’d said earlier, that Leliana did not trust Morrigan but there were a large number of people Leliana didn’t trust. Paranoia was part of her job description.

“Very well. I am hardly in a position to turn away skilled assistance.”

Morrigan didn’t seem to take offence at his lukewarm response and even seemed to approve of it, proving that he would never understand mages.

“My son will be accompanying me,” she said. Fenris noted that it was not a request or a question.

“Let Josephine know,” he said. “She’ll make whatever arrangements are needed.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said, inclining her head regally before turning to go.

Fenris leaned against the balustrade and looked over the gardens. He wasn’t surprised when someone came up to lean next to him and he turned his head and smiled faintly.

“Hawke.”

“You’re the belle of the ball,” Hawke said with a grin. “Saved the Empress, defeated the assassins and did it all with an air of dangerously rakish charm, according the nobles I passed.”

Fenris grunted. “It’s done. That’s the important thing.”

He felt Hawke’s warmth press against his side and leaned into it, taking some comfort from it. Amid all the lies and poisonous words and backstabbing of Orlais, Hawke was a solid, honest presence and he was absurdly grateful for it.

“You’re really good at this, you know?” Hawke said softly. “Much better than I would ever have been.”

Fenris frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Hawke shook his head and chuckled before staring out at the garden. “You’re a better leader by accident than I ever was deliberately.”

“Hawke…”

“No,” Hawke said, shaking his head again. “Being named Champion… I hated it but I thought I could use it to change things. But I didn’t. I don’t think I made things worse in Kirkwall but I sure didn’t make things better.”

“You did for me,” Fenris said quietly. “You gave me the opportunity to stop running. Without you standing beside me and offering your unconditional support for no other reason than because slavery is wrong… I don’t know if I would have ever stopped running and I probably would have ended up running straight back into Danarius’ collar because I didn’t know what else to do.”

Hawke was silent for a moment. “It wasn’t just that slavery is wrong,” he said with a rueful smile. “I nearly tripped over my own feet when you came down those stairs. You have no idea how much Carver teased me about it later.”

Fenris blushed a little and leaned into Hawke until he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “My point still stands. I will not let you distract me.”

Hawke wrapped both arms around him and pulled him close. “It was the right thing to do. I couldn’t have done anything else.”

Fenris went into the embrace willingly. “Many people had disagreed with you in the past. There were many times I left a town or village quickly because I could see the avarice and greed in people’s eyes and I knew the slavers had gotten there before me and offered a bounty.”

“Being a decent person still doesn’t make me a good leader,” Hawke said. “If I’d been better at it, I would have tried to stop Anders. I would have pushed Elthina to actually do something instead of letting her wait for… whatever the hell it was she was wating for. A sign from the Maker or something.”

“Anders’ problems were of his own making,” Fenris said sourly. “He should never have allowed the spirit to possess him.”

Hawke sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right but he was just trying to be a good friend.” He chuckled at the sceptical look Fenris gave him. “I know, I know. I think I’ve heard your entire litany about Anders by now.”

Fenris snorted. “I’m sure I could come up with some things you haven’t heard.”

Hawke leaned in and kissed Fenris, which was returned with equal fervency. Hawke turned them so that Fenris was pressed against the balustrade and he was shielding him from view of anyone who might pass by the doors to the balcony. They stayed like that for a while, trading kisses and gentle caresses, until Fenris finally gave Hawke a gentle shove.

“You are trying to distract me.” Despite his words, he didn’t sound like he cared much.

“Probably,” Hawke said with a grin. He stepped back and bowed formally to Fenris then held out one hand. “May I have the honour of a dance, my Lord Inquisitor?”

Fenris stared at him for a moment then gave one of his rare broad smiles. “You are ridiculous, Garrett.”

Hawke just waggled his eyebrows at him and looked pointedly at his hand. Fenris sighed and shook his head but he took Hawke’s hand and let himself be pulled in close. They began a slow dance to the music that could be faintly heard from the ballroom. 

“Didn’t want your only dance to be with Florianne,” Hawke murmured.

“That was less a dance than an elaborate chess game,” Fenris grumbled in reply.

“I saw you were talking through most of it.”

Fenris snorted. “Josephine’s lessons were useful. Try not to answer a question directly and preferably answer a question with another question.”

“Orlesians,” Hawke said with a shake of his head. 

“That’s what I said but it made Josephine give me a _look_.”

Hawke grinned. “I’ll bet it did.”

Fenris sighed and leaned against Hawke. Their dance became less a dance and more a case of the two of them rocking back and forth. It suited Fenris at the moment. He was tired and not inclined to watch where his feet were going.

“So what happens now?” Hawke murmured.

Fenris sighed. “I don’t know. It can wait until we get back to Skyhold and see what Morrigan has to say. But we have ruined Corypheus’ plans with both the Wardens and in Orlais. He will have to make a move against us.”

“Is it just me or is Morrigan a little… strange?” Hawke said after a moment.

Fenris snorted. “You met her mother. Did you expect the daughter to be any less strange than Flemeth?”

Hawke chuckled. “True. Hey, what did you mean back then? When you said she was no ordinary mage.”

Fenris shifted uncomfortably. “She… did not feel like any mage I had met before. She… her magic, that is… touched my markings. All mages do it the first time. They feel lyrium and their magic reaches out to it unconsciously.”

“Ouch.” Hawke winced. “Did I do that as well?”

“Yes,” Fenris replied. “Every mage does unconsciously. She… felt strange. Nothing like anything I have felt before.”

Hawke was still back with the matter of his magic. “I’m sorry.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “It is not something you did knowingly.”

“Still…”

“ _Enough_ ,” Fenris growled. “It happens. Most never try again. You certainly did not. You have only ever used magic on me with my permission. That means more than an unconscious reflex when we first met.”

Hawke mumbled under his breath for a moment then he sighed and pressed a kiss to Fenris’ forehead. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m being an idiot. Back to Flemeth. How strange is strange?”

Fenris frowned. “I… it’s hard to say. Her magic is not like anything I have felt before or since.” 

His frown deepened as he realised that wasn’t entirely true. He couldn’t be entirely sure since he had been partially overwhelmed by the effects of the mark on his hand and the rift that had been open right in front of him but he was fairly sure Solas had felt similar when his magic had first touched the marks. If Solas and Flemeth felt similar and he knew who Solas actually was, what did that mean about Flemeth?

He shook his head to dismiss the thought. He had no idea and wasn’t sure he wanted to ask Solas. Either way, Flemeth was powerful and that was ultimately all he needed to know. As for Morrigan, she was a normal as any other mage in the way she had touched his markings. As long as she kept her magic to herself, he would have no reason to dig any deeper.

“She is… unusual,” he finally concluded.

“And not here at least,” Hawke said wryly. “As helpful as she was in Fereldan, I think she’s the kind of person who only complicates your life and I think our lives are complicated enough as it is.”

Fenris snorted. “That is very true.”

There was a light tap on the doors of the balcony and they looked around to find Josephine standing there, smiling rather indulgently at them.

“I am loathe to interrupt, Inquisitor, but there would be no insult offered if we were to leave now.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Fenris said fervently, pulling away from Hawke and taking a few steps towards the Ambassador.

Josephine chuckled at his reaction. “Everyone is gathering in the foyer. I have already said our goodnights and goodbyes to the Empress so we can leave without any further delay.”

Hawke caught up with Fenris and offered his arm. Fenris rolled his eyes but took it anyway. Hawke then inclined his head towards Josephine and offered his other arm to her. She laughed and took and they headed inside to finally escape the Winter Palace.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris arrives back at Skyhold and is swallowed by administrivia. Or in other words, things were happening while he was being annoyed by Orlesians and now he has to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still haven't quite got Merrill to Skyhold but she's almost there! Next chapter, I promise! :D

Fenris’ arrival back at Skyhold heralded a seemingly endless array of things that he had to see to, from the flood of correspondence from Orlesian nobles, to the reports and requests from various Inquisition forces, to the note from Carver wanting to talk about Weisshaupt and the Wardens, to a message about Anders and finally the message from the Inquisition scouts escorting Merrill that she would be arriving within the week. 

Fenris winced when he read that last one. He hadn’t actually told his advisors that he was bringing an elven blood mage to Skyhold and he sighed as he realised that should probably be one of the priorities. Josephine and Leliana would need to ensure that part of Merrill’s magic was kept quiet and he really ought to give Cullen time to get his snit out of his system before Merrill got here and discombobulated the man too much.

He made his way to the War Room, the note about Merill in his hand, and found that his advisors had beaten him there. So too had Morrigan and he arched an eyebrow at her. She arched an eyebrow right back at him and almost dared him to say something. Just for that he gave her his best bland expression and turned back to his advisors. Josephine was far too skilled to let anything show but the amusement in Leliana’s eyes and the way she smothered a sudden smile told him that he’d won whatever battle had been in the offing there with the mage without even lifting a finger in the skirmish.

“I forgot to tell you,” he said, flicking the note so that it landed on the table. “Merrill is coming.”

Josephine sighed. “I already knew, Inquisitor. The scouts informed Leliana and she informed me. I have been making preparations.” She gave him a long look. “An elven blood mage? Here? Now?”

“Are you sure this is wise, Inquisitor?” Cullen said in a tone of voice that indicated that he really, _really_ wanted to say something else but was biting his tongue for the moment.

“No,” Fenris said with a grimace. He understood their concerns. “There is… a reason for this, though I’m not currently willing to say what it is. Suffice to say, she may be an idiot but she’s not a complete moron.”

“Which I will interpret from my limited experience as ‘I don’t trust her but I don’t think she’s stupid enough to use blood magic where other people can see her,” Morrigan said with veiled amusement.

“Close enough,” Fenris replied.

“I will speak to her when she gets here,” Leliana said calmly. “She was her clan’s First. I am sure she will understand the need for diplomatic discretion.”

Cullen grunted and though he _looked_ disgruntled, there was an undercurrent there that immediately had Fenris’ hackles rising. Not in a bad way, nor in any way directed at Merrill. If he had to put a name to that undercurrent, he would have called it fear. Or perhaps even terror. Something deep and old. He could see that both Josephine and Leliana had picked up on it and whatever it was, Leliana seemed to know the source of it as she was the one who edged closer and nudged Cullen, giving him a small reassuring smile and nod when he looked at her. Fenris made a mental note to speak to his Commander later.

“What other business is there?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Inquisitor, we’ve tracked Corypheus’ forces to the Arbor Wilds,” Cullen said with a briskness that was only slightly forced. He certainly seemed relieved to turn the discussion back to more mundane matters. “Though _we_ are unsure what he is doing there.”

Fenris noted the way he emphasised ‘we’ and then the three advisors all looked towards Morrigan so Fenris turned and arched an eyebrow at her again.

“Based on what you advisors have shown me, I believe I know what Corypheus seeks in the Arbor Wilds,” she said grandly. “My studies have shown that deep within its depths lies an ancient Elven Temple to Mythal. Within it lies something called the Well of Sorrows and I believe I know what that is.”

“Oh?” Fenris said. He made a mental note to speak to Solas about this.

Morrigan gestured towards the door. “Shall we?”

He followed her through Skyhold to a small room off the gardens. Inside the room was a large shimmering mirror.

“An eluvian,” he said flatly.

Morrigan looked momentarily surprised, though she covered it quickly. “You have seen them before?”

“After a fashion. A broken one.”

The look he got from the mage was one of intense curiosity but he did not elaborate. He would let Merrill handle that particular confrontation and frankly, he put his money on Merrill coming out the better from it.

“Well, this one is not broken,” Morrigan said, sounding just faintly sulky, as though she had anticipated making some grand reveal and didn’t much like having the rug pulled out from under her feet. “Do you know what they do?”

Fenris shrugged. “They were used for communication and travel but I didn’t pay much attention to the explanation at the time.”

“Perhaps you will pay attention this time.”

Fenris shot Morrigan a look and decided that he didn’t much care for Flemeth’s daughter. She seemed very much convinced of her own superiority and obviously didn’t care to have that challenged in any way. It reminded him far too much of the Magisters of Tevinter.

“Perhaps,” he said blandly. “Lead on.”

Morrigan activated the eluvian and walked through. Fenris hesitated and scowled for a moment before following her. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting beyond the surface of the mirror – perhaps something like the Fade maybe – but what he saw was… astonishing. Eluvians as far as the eye could see, something that Morrigan described as the Crossroads. In the distance, he was sure he could see one that looked alarmingly like Merrill’s broken one. 

“This is what Corypheus seeks?” he asked.

“I believe it may be,” Morrigan replied. “This is not the Fade but it is not far from it. If he were to come here, the power required to tear this place asunder and reach the Fade would be well within his grasp.”

“And you think this Well of Sorrows is an eluvian?”

“I cannot be sure but it seems likely,” she replied. “He seeks a way into the Fade and an eluvian would provide him with that.”

Fenris grunted. “Then we had best stop him.”

“’Tis a wise idea,” Morrigan said before leading him back out of the Fade.

They returned to the War Room and informed the others of what may be waiting in the depths of the Arbor Wilds. They nodded grimly and they settled into making plans. 

“One more thing, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, once they started going in circles about the Arbor Wilds and finally decided to set the plans aside until they had further information. “A request has come in from Orzammer.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “And what do the dwarves want? They’re not the kind to seek help from the surface if there is any truth to what Varric says of them.”

“That is true,” Josephine replied. “However there are disruptions occurring in their lyrium mining that they have traced to the Storm Coast. Since we have as much interest as they do in ensuring the lyrium mining continues unabated, they have asked for the Inquisition’s aid.” She paused before continuing delicately, “I get the impression they have sought aid elsewhere and it has not been forthcoming.”

“The Chantry is still too paralysed to do anything, in other words,” Fenris growled.

“True,” Leliana said. “I understand you had a chat with one of their representatives about their request for Cassandra and myself?”

Fenris nodded. “It’s up to the pair of you but we’re not finished here just because the situation is more or less settled in Orlais.”

“That was the conclusion that Cassandra and I came to,” Leliana said with a faint smile. “The Chantry has waited this long, they can continue to wait if they so desperately need our counsel.”

Fenris snorted. “Very well. Tell Orzammer that we will help them so long as it doesn’t interfere with our preparations for the Arbor Wilds.”

“I don’t think it will,” Cullen said. “It’s going to take time for the scouts to get there and report back and then we’ll have to move our army into position. Corypheus won’t be able to move that quickly either. Not if he doesn’t want to be noticed. But I’ll send people out to harry whatever troops of his we can find. Anything that delays his moves helps us. In the meantime, there’s plenty to be done.”

Fenris nodded then looked at his advisors. “Anders.”

“Anders has been aiding our healers,” Josephine said smoothly. “Ser Theo and Enchanter Lorelai report that there have been no further episodes of the like which were occurring.” She paused. “They also report a… recovery in his personality.”

Fenris frowned. “A what?”

“They say he is a markedly different man than the one they first met,” Josephine replied. “Still very much who he is but more… humorous.”

Fenris frowned then shrugged. “As long as they do not think he is a danger to anyone, he can be as humorous as he likes.” He did however make a mental note to mention it to Hawke. He was better suited to sorting out what was going on with Anders. “Is there anything else?”

“We have received a letter from Maevaris Tilani, Dorian’s friend,” Josephine said. “Danarius’ cousin Marcinius was informed of your kidnapping and that his name was being used to facilitate such things. He was incensed according to Maevaris and is taking steps to cut off any further use of his name against you. Maevaris says that he has become quite outspoken in the Magisterium and that if we wish for him to survive, she may need some assistance to protect him.”

Fenris froze for a moment as his instincts warred with his common sense. Fortunately Cullen came to his rescue.

“We can send a couple of Templars north,” the Commander said. “Disguised, of course. They can act as body guards. I have a few candidates that I believe could handle the differences between here and Tevinter.”

Fenris gave a curt nod. “Do it.”

“That is all for now,” Josephine said smoothly. “Though Wardens Carver and Felix wish to speak to you as soon as possible.”

Fenris nodded then turned and stalked out of the War Room. He made his way through the stronghold, nodding to Varric as he headed for Solas’ room. The dwarf took one look at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Alright there, Broody?”

“Tevinter,” he growled and Varric nodded in understanding.

“Burn it to the ground,” he said with a grin that Fenris couldn’t help but answer.

“It would be preferable.”

Varric chuckled and Fenris continued on until he reached Solas’ little spot in the rotunda. The elven mage was sketching on the wall, obviously a precursor to the larger work of creating the murals he seemed so fond of.

“How may I help you, da’len?” Solas said without turning around.

“I need to speak to you,” Fenris said, letting the elven form of address slide for the moment. He glanced upwards towards the library and beyond it, to Leliana’s roost. “Privately.”

That got Solas’ undivided attention. He turned and quirked an eyebrow at Fenris. When that gained no further information, he set aside his equipment and inclined his head. 

“Then I am at your disposal, Inquisitor.”

Fenris lead the elven mage up to his rooms, knowing that only Hawke would venture up here now and he… had already been contemplating telling his lover about this, if only so that he could have someone else’s opinion when he wanted to sort things out in his mind. 

“Is there a Temple to Mythal in the Arbor Wilds?” he asked without preamble once they were in his room proper.

Solas blinked then frowned slightly. “If my understanding of the location of the Arbor Wilds is correct then yes. Why do you ask?”

“Corypheus is heading there,” Fenris replied. “He’s after something called the Well of Sorrows.”

Solas’ eyes widened and an expression of indignation and rage flitted across his face. “He must not be allowed to find it,” he demanded.

Fenris rolled his eyes. “That _is_ the plan.”

Solas blinked and then nodded, a faint smile briefly appearing. “Forgive me, Fenris. Of course you are already looking to oppose him.”

“What is it?” Fenris asked. “Morrigan believes it to be an eluvian.”

Solas hesitated for a moment. “There is an eluvian there, it is true, unless it was removed after I entered the Uthenera.”

“But it’s not the Well of Sorrows.”

“No,” Solas said after a long moment of silence. “The Well is precisely that – a well. It contains the combined knowledge of my people and is… should be… well-guarded.” He paused again. “However, it would be… wise to continue to go along with Morrigan’s interpretation.”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed. “Why?” He paused then grimaced. “I don’t like her.”

“She is… unique,” Solas said dryly. “But if you were to contradict her, questions would be asked about how you know what you know to contradict her.”

Fenris gave him a long look. “How well guarded is well guarded?”

“Formidably,” Solas replied. “Presuming they still live and are woken from the Uthenera but I have no reason to think that is not the case.”

“Isn’t Mythal dead?”

Solas’ smile was thin and wintery. “We are not that easy to kill.”

“You said she was murdered.”

“She was.”

Fenris growled at him. “Which is it?”

“She _was_ murdered,” Solas replied. “But this was before the Veil. Her body was killed but her… spirit, if you will, lived on. It is not a precise term but it will do.” He frowned. “Perhaps essence might be a better word. She was too strong willed, too powerful to be entirely destroyed, though they certainly tried.”

“So she’s alive…” Fenris stuttered to a halt, his eyes wide. He shuddered and started pacing across the room. “ _Flemeth_! She’s Flemeth, isn’t she?”

Solas’ weighty silence made him stop and turn to look at the mage. Solas looked like he was trying to find the right words to explain, as though the concept was not quite one they had words for now.

“Isn’t she?” Fenris asked suspiciously.

Solas sighed. “Yes. And no. Flemeth was a human woman who lived a very long time ago. She had been wronged and diminished and demeaned. She raised her voice in anger, desiring vengeance but lacking the power to take it. Mythal, who was little more than a spirit at the time, heard her cries and came to her. Mythal, too, ached for vengeance and she offered Flemeth a deal. Flemeth took it. Both live on, Flemeth and Mythal, now too intertwined to be able to tell one from the other.”

Fenris shuddered. “Like Anders and Justice.”

“Similar,” Solas replied after a small thoughtful pause. “Though their situation was far simpler and far less stable. But Justice is not like Mythal. She was once a living being. She understands the complexities of people. Justice is, was and always will be a spirit. He understands only his purpose. Complexity can only confuse and ultimately corrupt him.”

“Does Mythal know what you are doing?” Fenris asked warily. He knew it delved into madness to go against one god, he wasn’t sure even he was mad enough to face down two.

“She does.” Solas’ smile was thin and slightly pained this time. “You would get along well with her.”

That brought Fenris to a halt and he stared at Solas. “So even _she_ thinks you’re mad and you’re still going ahead?”

Solas’ chin came up and his expression became rather mulishly imperious. “My plans are…”

“Madness,” Fenris said flatly. “And you know it or you wouldn’t be so secretive about it.”

Stubborn annoyance grew on Solas’ face but Fenris ignored that. If Solas hadn’t struck him down in the Fade when he’d first confessed, he doubted what he’d just said was going to provoke such an action.

“Oh, and Merrill is arriving soon,” he said blandly, enjoying the way that the abrupt change of conversational direction clearly threw Solas off balance.

“Merrill…” Solas frowned thoughtfully. “Ah, yes. Your friend from Kirkwall. The Dalish mage.”

“That’s the one,” Fenris said dryly. “You should meet her.”

Solas gave him a withering look. “You are very transparent.”

“It might do you good to hear from one of the People you claim are yours,” Fenris said, his tone biting and sarcastic.

Solas glared at him then he sighed and ran his hand over his bald head. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“Yes,” Fenris said flatly.

The look he got in return was wryly amused and he was secretly glad to see it. He liked Solas but he still hadn’t quite meshed together Solas and Fen’Harel nor did he have even the first clue as to how he was going to stop Solas from carrying out his asinine plan. The fact that he could be so snarky and snap at Solas the way he did and the mage did little more than get irritated with him was… gratifying. It meant that somewhere deep inside, Solas knew he was being an idiot. He just didn’t know how to stop.

“If that was all, Inquisitor?”

Fenris waved a hand and watched as Solas left. He stood in the middle of the room for a moment then decided to go and find Hawke and tell him about Anders’ apparent change of personality. It would be nice to off load at least one problem onto someone else’s shoulder for once.


End file.
